


Culmination

by LadyIrina



Series: Corruption and Redemption [5]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Graves makes new friends, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-09 09:30:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11666373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIrina/pseuds/LadyIrina
Summary: Caught between three worlds and with war looming on the horizon, Percival Graves and his band of rogue Aurors has to choose a side.Suddenly it becomes more about revenge rather than right and wrong...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I said Revelation would be the final part of the series and yet here we are! Apologies to the ones who were hoping to be free of this fic and welcome to the ones who wants to join in on the final part!  
> I have to say, this would not have been possible without the support of Gentrychild, melamory, truetomorrow and Inzey! And, of course, every single one who commented! Thank you all so much for your support! <3

Percival Graves sent a powerful lightning spell towards his opponent, incapacitating the woman, and managed to take two steps before he was forced to fend off another wizard. They were crawling out of woodwork now! There had to be at least twenty of them at that moment!

The rumors had to be true then; this tall building was indeed where the artifact Grindelwald wanted was kept!

“Theseus!” He called out to the man fighting nearby, “Back to back!”

The two made their way towards each other, deflecting and returning spell-fire, until they were indeed back to back, making it impossible for sneak attacks, and they moved in a slow circle while sending off countless spells to keep the enemy at bay.

After weeks of following the artifact’s trail, they were finally battling Grindelwald’s minions. A trail which had lead them to an eerie and desolate city in Belgium. It was as if every No Maj there had suddenly vanished without a trace…

A short distance away, Credence was shooting spells with his wand as well, but he was up against three other wizards and withdrawing under their barrage. He ended up with his back against the building, trapped, and the three approached with murderous glee.  
Credence sent them a nervous look. “Please, don’t…”

The tallest wizard lifted his wand, ready to fire it, but paused when he saw the corner of Credence’s lovely mouth tug at a slight smile.

When the darkness exploded towards them, only one of the three had time to scream.

Inside the building, at the top floor, Makarov was running. Spells were flying around him. Lightning kept crackling too close for comfort and the heat of fire spells were even closer, so he kept running.   
In his right hand, Vasiliy was clutching his wand, but in his left; he was holding a small orb. It was one of the key ingredients for Grindelwald to make his dreadful Inferi army. Without the orb, his undead army would not rise.

Crossing his arms protectively in front of his face, Makarov closed his eyes, leaped forward and burst through the window he had been aiming for.

As he fell, he opened his eyes and inhaled sharply; instinctive fear jolting through him due to the height, but then the shadows below came alive and the Obscurus was racing up against him. He fell and was engulfed by the darkness.

On the ground, Theseus glanced back at Percival over his shoulder, grinning widely with the tip of his tongue poking out. “He did it!”

Graves rolled his eyes, flicking a spell. “Fine. So he didn’t mess it up. I stand corrected, okay?” He absently summoned a wandless magic with his left hand to take care of an overly confident wizard to his left and then he was the one to smile; at the sight of the massive Obscurus now heading their way. “Buckle up. Our ride is coming.”

Whining, Theseus tensed up a little. He was still getting used to traveling by dark magic and the Obscurus was a little too fond of sniffing around him in this shape; as if sensing a prey but unable to find it as long as Theseus kept calm. Theseus had never been fond of playing chicken, even as a child!

Wizards were flung away when the Obscurus ploughed through them on its way towards Percival Graves and Theseus Scamander. It snarled furiously as a spell hit it, but it didn’t change course. It washed over the two, and when the darkness shot off towards the sky again; all that remained on the ground were Grindelwald’s terrified followers.

-

Hours later, Makarov walked into the living room of the luxury apartment Graves had spell-cast some poor civilian into believing he’d rented out to them. Some of the attacks had indeed come too close and he’d been forced to both shower and change clothes to get rid of the singed smell.

In the sofa, Theseus sat, or slumped was more accurate, and rested his head on Percival Graves’ shoulder. Graves was holding up the orb with his left hand, studying it, and absently carded the fingers on his other hand through Theseus’ hair in slow, repetitive movements.

Vasiliy hesitated for one moment, but eventually walked over and found his place on Theseus’ other side. He’d barely sat down before Theseus tugged him over and Makarov ended up stretching out on the sofa with his head in Theseus’ lap. The light touches to his hair and face made him almost drowsy…

“So what do we do with it?” Theseus asked, referring to the orb.

Graves sighed. “We need to hide it somewhere safe.” He clenched his hand into a fist around it. “He may not have the Resurrection Stone yet, but he can still use this for a whole bunch of dark rituals.”

“Why not destroy it?” Vasiliy asked, half asleep.

“I don’t think we can,” Graves admitted. “This is powerful magic. And even if we manage, I have no idea what will happen to the magic inside it. We might unleash something even worse.”

“So we’ll drop it into the ocean,” Theseus declared, trailing a finger along Vasiliy’s jawline before he scouted towards the kitchen area. “Think he’s done yet?”

Credence had vanished into the kitchen to conjure up their dinner and they were all banned from entering until he invited them. This because of previous incidents which had ended in several alpha-fights between Vasiliy and Graves and Theseus nearly killing himself with a potato peeler.

They had offered to split the kitchen duty separately and evenly, but that barely lasted a couple of weeks. Makarov only knew how to make basic army meals, while he saw nothing wrong with that; Graves had loudly claimed he was trying to poison them all. Theseus would only make fish and chips, insisting they contained all five food groups growing men needed. Graves kept insisting on dragging them to far too expensive restaurants instead of actually making something himself. In the end, Credence had kicked them all out and claimed dominance over that particular room. And nobody wanted to challenge an angry Obscurial.

“He’ll let us know when he’s done,” Graves stated, and as if he had hear them; that was when Credence did call out for them.

The trio made their way into the kitchen and Theseus made a beeline for Credence, who was standing with his back towards them and waving his wand to keep the three spoons in the different pots stirring. Theseus wrapped his arms around the waist of the younger man and rested his chin on his shoulder to peer down at what he was making. “You need to dump Percy and marry me, Credence. That smells absolutely divine!”

Flushing slightly, Credence failed to hide a flattered smile. “If only you could cook as well as you smooth-talk, Mr. Seuska.” He then turned beet red and fanned Theseus away when the Englishman smirked and declared he was talented, oh so talented, in other areas.

-

They ate, talked about the day, what had gone right and what could be improved.   
Credence tensed up a little when they began talking about what to do next. As much as he rejoiced in their success that day, as much as it pleased him to know they had messed up Grindelwald’s plans, Credence was also painfully aware of that their luck wouldn’t last forever.

They had dodged everything which Grindelwald had thrown at them, gotten away with blatantly breaking Ministry rules in several countries; their luck was bound to run out sooner or later. Eventually, consequences would catch up with them, if they didn’t quit while they were ahead.

When they had withdrawn to their respective rooms, Credence sat on the bed, waiting for Percival to emerge from his regular evening-routine of wooing his mirrored reflection in the bathroom. Once he did emerge, changed into his silk pajamas and with newly washed hair, he sent Credence a puzzled look. Usually the young man would be a snoozing lump under the sheets by now.

“Something wrong, Credence?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s just…”

“Just what?” Percival walked over and sat down next to him. “Talk to me.”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Credence began, nervously wringing his hands and staring at the floor. “Nothing good ever lasts. Bad stuff always follows, whenever we think we’re safe, whenever we push our luck…” He drew a sharp breath and turned to look at Percival. “If we keep going like this, we’re going to burn.”

Frowning, Percival reached up to draw a calming hand over Credence’s hair. “I know.”

Strangely relieved, Credence leaned into his touch. Of course Percival knew. 

“But it’s either this, or we keep running and looking over our shoulder for the rest of our lives,” Percival explained quietly. “Gellert won’t leave us alone, we both know that. And if we can take him down, we might have something to bargain with when it comes to the MACUSA. We won’t be allowed back, but if we hand them a victory, they might be persuaded to leave us alone.” He sighed. “It’s not much, I agree. Most likely it won’t make a difference to them. So… want to run? I got no problem with running. Whatever you want, I’ll make it happen.”

Credence considered it and ended up shaking his head with a defeated sound. “No, I…” He knew why Percival kept pushing now. It was a weak hope, but it was the only hope they had. Keep running and they would end up exhausted, paranoid and tearing each other apart. He didn’t want that. He wanted that hope. “I want to fight.”

“Are you sure? You could go back to Greece. Wait for me there and I’ll come back to you. To be honest, I’d be relieved if you did. You and Theseus. You’d both be safe, for a while. I’ll bring the Russian. Maybe Gellert will turn him into something nasty, if I’m lucky.”

Snorting a weak laugh, Credence bumped his shoulder against Percival’s. “Shut up. Vasiliy is nice. Really nice. You could learn a lot from him.”

Huffing, clearly insulted, Percival pushed him back on the bed and crawled up to hover over him. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” Credence insisted, fighting against a smile and the instinctive thrill of having a predator pinning him down. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

-

The next day, they packed up and headed out. 

Makarov gritted his teeth so hard it hurt when they passed the Manneken Pis and Graves remarked how it was the mirrored image of the Russian. (One day he would get his horrible revenge on that horrible American… One day!)

Theseus, fighting desperately against the urge to laugh, tried to soothe the man’s ruffled feathers by loudly stating that he knew for a fact that Vasya was indeed MUCH larger. Especially in a very important area!

Credence decided at that moment to create some distance between himself and the others, fearing he’d die of embarrassment if he didn’t. 

They were crossing the Grote Markt when the smugness left Percival and fierce unease took its place.  
He glanced over at Theseus, made eye contact, and the smile vanished from the Englishman’s face as well; clearly picking up his unease. They scouted their surroundings and quickly found reasons to be worried. Theseus nudged the Russian and whispered something, making him tense up as well.

Percival discretely let his wand slide out of his sleeve and into his hand.

Once he saw Theseus and Makarov were armed as well, he let out a low whistle to catch Credence’s attention. The young man had been gawking at the amazing buildings and had completely failed to pick up on the dangers. Now he sent Percival a quizzical look.

Knowing they would have very little time once he revealed that he knew, Graves braced himself and got ready for a fight. “Credence. Go Obscurus, get out of here. Now!”

No sooner had he shouted the words did every other person in the market pull out wands. Some stunned the No Majs unlucky enough to be there to get them out of the way, while others began setting up a shield to encapsulate the area and trap the startled Credence, who instinctively went into his Obscurus shape and shot up into the sky.

All hell broke loose. Spells were flying to and from everywhere. Percival had to dive down to avoid being hit, rolled across the ground and shot back at some random wizards before getting up again. He kept moving, kept firing and deflecting spells, while trying to keep an eye on Theseus and Makarov as well. So far, they were standing their ground, but there were too many people surrounding them. Thirty? Forty?

A loud crackle of energy caught his attention for a moment and Percival cast a quick glance up at the sky. What he saw made his heart drop inside his chest.

The shield had closed over the market place before the Obscurus could escape and now it strained helplessly against the barrier.   
They were trapped.

Turning his attention to his surroundings again, Graves assessed the situation. They were trapped inside the dome. There were at least forty wizards in the marked, far more than he and the other two could handle. The Obscurus could probably take on a whole bunch of them, but it still hadn’t recovered fully from the light attack and he had no idea how much damage it could take before Credence would be in trouble. Another problem was the fact that these were Ministry agents, not Gellert’s people, which meant that killing them was not an option…

-

“Percival Graves!” A voice called out.

Percival deflected a spell and glanced to the left to find a woman standing with a confident pose and her entire focus on him; her prey. She had thick blonde hair to her shoulders, brown eyes, and a powerful wand in her hand. “On behalf of the British Ministry, you are under arrest!”

Sneering, Percival send off a spell that made the man next to her crumble. “The British Ministry? Fawley sent you?”

“My name is Leona Silvestri,” the woman replied. “Surrender voluntarily or I will make you.”

It was a name Percival knew well. The Auror they sent to chase down rogue agents and who had yet to fail a mission. Damn…  
Why the hell had Fawley sent his prized hunter after them?   
“Sorry,” Percival lifted his wand. “You will have to tell your boss I’m busy. I have to deal with Gellert first, then I’ll come back for Fawley!”

Leona was strong, really strong, and he had to concentrate to keep her at bay and also be alert of back attacks from her cronies. He suffered a couple of hits, clenching his jaw against the jolts of pain, but kept his main focus on her. She was the dangerous one

He heard the Obscurus roaring, slamming against the barrier, swatting away the Aurors closest to it, and it hurt to know there was nothing he could do to aid it. Percival felt even more helpless when he caught a glimpse of Theseus collapsing after a double hit, forcing Makarov to step in to protect him.

In a regular duel, Percival would have won. Leona was strong, but she was still no match to him. However, with her henchmen sniping at Graves at any chance they got, sneaking in hits and depleting him, he was soon struggling to keep up.

Eventually Makarov was hit hard and collapsed next to Theseus. Aurors swarmed them and kept them down.

Leona gave a cruel smile. “Your friends are down, Mr. Graves.” She was panting and sweating after the strain of their battle, but she was nowhere near done. “They can’t help you.” She cast a lightning spell that he deflected. “You can’t defeat us all. Surrender now, make Barebone stand down and we won’t have to destroy him.”

Anger flared up and Percival went after her. No one threatened Credence. No one!

Percival managed to drive her back, even made her blink under his barrage, but he kept being hit by her cronies. He could feel his strength being drained. “Touch him and I swear I will fucking kill you!”

When Leona and five others all hit him with spells at the same time, Percival Graves didn’t hear himself scream. But Credence did.

“Stop!” The last thing Percival saw before he passed out was Credence, in his human shape, standing in front of him, between him and Leona, calling out; “Stop hurting him!”

-

“Wake up!”

Theseus groaned as he slowly fought his way back to the real world. It was as if there was an angry swarm of bees inside his head. What had happened? He didn’t remember…

But then the memories came rushing back. Brussels, the fight in the market place!  
He opened his eyes and found himself staring up at a vaguely familiar face. A woman. What was her name? Piperita! She worked at the Ministry in London, guarding the prisoners they had in for questioning. 

“Wake up, Scamander,” Piperita repeated, sharper now.

Theseus sat up, fighting waves of nausea and jolts of pain. His body was battered. “What…?”

“Mr. Fawley wants a word with you,” Piperita said. Her eyes were cold and her mouth a tight line.

Trying to shake off the haze that made him sluggish, Theseus glanced around and realized he was in one of the cells beneath the Ministry. He was back in London. What was going on?  
He got up on his feet, somewhat unsteadily, and followed Piperita out of the cell. Theseus scanned the surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of the others, but he saw no one.

Eventually he entered one of the interrogation rooms and found Hector Fawley sitting there. Resisting the urge to punch him in the face, Theseus walked over and sank down on the other side of the table from the man. His body was so tired! “Mr. Fawley. Care to explain what I’m doing here?”

“You, Mr. Scamander, and your band of hooligans, are wanted for murder.”

“What?” The fog disappeared completely and Theseus was suddenly wide awake. “Is this a joke?”

“Not at all,” Fawley replied, sliding over the wanted poster with his photo and details. Wanted for the murder of Viberus Nadder.

Shock and disbelief hit Theseus even harder. “The man was a psychotic murderer! He killed Regina Broadchurch and the Polish girl! We tried to apprehend him, he fought back and we had to defend ourselves!”

Fawley shrugged. “We have no evidence that connects him to the Broadchurch woman or that he even touched the Obscurial girl. What we do have is his healer, who swears the man was cured, and a whole lot of Aurors who saw Graves’ beast tear Nadder apart in front of their very eyes.”

“His healer is under the Imperius Curse! He tried to kill Credence Barebone on Nadder’s order, remember?” If anybody was a beast, it was Nadder!

“According to an Obscurial, your brother and a dead woman. Not the strongest evidence I’ve heard of!” Fawley sighed and shook his head. “You people have been causing me nothing but headaches and problems since that waterfront incident. Surely you did not expect to get away with the things you’ve been doing? Blatantly breaking rules left and right in eight countries, can you imagine my embarrassment? A British Auror gone rogue, dragging with him a MACUSA traitor, an Obscurial and a Russian defector? This simply cannot be endured, Mr. Scamander. It shall not!”

Theseus leaned forward, desperate to make him understand. “But we got results! We discovered more about Grindelwald’s organization and ruined more of his plans in six months than we did here in London over two years! We are trying to prevent a war, Fawley!”

“Nonsense,” Fawley huffed. “People keep making Gellert Grindelwald into the bogeyman, but I won’t be fooled. He’s a criminal, but that’s all. Nothing more, nothing less. And criminals must be punished.”

Theseus leaned back in his chair, swallowing hard.   
He knew what happened to wizards convicted for murder in England…

-

Percival woke up in pain and wearing magic blockers in the shape of some very unfashionable bracelets on his wrists. It took him two seconds to go from dizzily confused to awake and seething with fury.  
He didn’t take much longer to recognize his surroundings as a holding cell back in London either. The Aurors had brought them back to England. That did not bode well…

Hours passed and Percival was left to pace his cell in solace. He was worried about the others, but knew no one would appear before it suited them. Graves had used the stalling tactic himself plenty times when he had prisoners he wanted to break.

Finally there was the sound of approaching footsteps and Percival steeled himself.

The door opened and he was slightly surprised to see Leona Silvestri there. She raised her eyebrows at the sight of him, as if she was impressed that he was up on his feet already, but there was still an unmistakable coldness to her eyes. 

“The others?” Percival asked.

“Alive,” Leona replied. She tilted her head and studied him. “The infamous Percival Graves. You’re every bit as strong as they said you’d be.”

Graves knew it wasn’t a compliment, merely an observation. “So what happens now?”

“What happens to all criminals, you get locked away.”

“You know that’s a mistake,” Percival stated. “Fawley might not want to realize it, but a war is coming. Gellert Grindelwald is building his army and he will come for you all. There will be no mercy for those who oppose him.”

Leona did not seem worried. “If Grindelwald attacks, I will be the one who shows no mercy.” She shook her head a little. “You were the second in command of the MACUSA. You’re a direct descendant of one of the original Aurors. What happened to you?”

Percival Graves smiled like a razor blade. “I woke up.”

“Your escort will be here within the hour,” Leona studied him a final time. “I doubt we’ll meet again. Goodbye Percival Graves.”

“Until next time,” Percival replied, watching as she closed the door behind her. 

He knew it would be pointless to ask her for more information on the others. As much as it tore him up inside not knowing, Percival knew he had to wait. Someone further down on the food chain, someone less experienced than Silvestri, might give up some information.

As usual, Percival was right. When two Aurors came to guide him out of the Ministry, he was able to learn what had happened to the others. He almost wished he hadn’t.

Credence was to stay behind in the Ministry to ‘aid’ them in their research of his unique abilities, while Graves, Scamander and Makarov were to serve their lifetime sentences for the murder of Viberus Nadder; in Azkaban.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to Azkaban...

[](https://ibb.co/g89JUv)   


The dark fortress called Azkaban was every bit as frightful as the Aurors tried to make it out to be.

Without a word, Makarov had suffered the indignity of the prison clothes and them putting his prison number on his neck in a painful tattoo. He knew his words would have no weight here. He was now a convicted criminal, given no chance to defend himself, and his Ministry would not come to the aid of someone who had turned their back on them. He was on his own. He’d made his choice.

He’d heard of Azkaban, of course. But Vasiliy had assumed a lot of the rumors were exaggerations, as always happened around restricted areas. That assumption was his mistake.

Makarov had barely set a foot on the island before the presence of the Dementors began to seep into his skin; a cold despair.

The Aurors had brought him there alone, but Vasiliy knew Seuska and Graves had been sentenced to the same fate as him. Were they already there? He tried to look around as his death-like guards shepherded him into the dark tower and to his cell, but there was no sign of any other living being outside the fortress.

Once inside, he wasn’t all that sure that the screams in there came from living creatures either.

Cold chains were locked around his wrists the second he was inside his cell and Vasiliy kept still under the eyeless stare of two Dementors there with him. He felt their invisible intrusion into his head, searching for happy memories to nourish them and could do nothing to prevent them. 

Good moments in his life were twisted into something else.  
Things that gave him hope were warped into something he’d never see or experience again. He should have stayed in Russia. He’d given up everything for nothing. Now there was nothing but suffering in his future. Dark, bleak, horrible suffering. He was abandoned by everyone.

He would die alone, scared and forgotten.

By the time they slid out of his cell without making a single sound, Makarov was trembling.  
He felt weak and nauseous, but mostly he felt the keen absence of hope.

He would never get out of there. He would never feel warmth or see the sun again. He’d never talk to another living soul. 

And this was merely the first day… How was he going to survive this? The answer was clear; he wouldn’t. And neither would the others.  
Makarov sank down to sit below the small window of his cell. He tried to focus on breathing.

On the second day, he began to remember the worst days of his life and he was so very cold…

By the end of the first week, Vasiliy knew Theseus was dead. He could feel it. It was yet another cold fact inside his soul, an absence of something that used to make him feel happy, and he wondered why he didn’t cry. Why he couldn’t feel anything but a void inside him?

Two weeks later, he absently watched as blood dripped from where the chains had rubbed through his skin and almost to the bone of his wrists from his manic twisting on them. Physical pain felt better than what was inside him.

And he knew that the second he fell asleep, a Dementor would appear…

-

Hours after Makarov’s arrival, Percival Graves kept his shoulders back and his head up when they ordered him onto the island of Azkaban. He felt the unnatural chill from the hovering Dementors, but he did not flinch. He would not break!

His prison clothes were horrible, they had even marred his skin and the cell was a damp nightmare, but that meant little compared to the cold presence of his jailors. The Dementors moved without a sound, watched him without eyes and their hunger burned.

He was not prepared for how easily they dragged his despair to the surface. By the second day, Percival was tossed back into his worst memories and he could almost hear Ben’s voice whispering in his ear. Ben, who had tormented him, physically and mentally, more cruelly than anybody else.

_“It’s no point, buddy,”_ Ben’s mocking voice whispered. _“You’re going to die here. Your boy is probably dead already, cut up into little pieces, made into charms and experiments! Theseus would have been happy had you never come back. And the Russian, he never stood a chance.”_

Fighting against the fear that it wasn’t just his imagination conjuring up the voice of Ben, Percival clung to his stubbornness with all his might. They were not going to break him!

_“But you’re already broken, buddy,”_ Ben whispered. _“I broke you. Remember?”_  
And he remembered. Dear Morgana, did he remember!

Days became weeks and weeks became a full month.

He sometimes wondered if Theseus and Makarov were still alive. (Ben whispered they weren’t.) He knew they were in the tower somewhere, (Ben claimed they were buried in the graveyard outside.) but he had no idea where. If only he could reach one of them, then he could… what?  
Nothing. There was nothing he could do. Nothing they could do, locked up and magic bound.  
Percival Graves sank down to sit on the floor, hands in his hair and told himself he wouldn’t break. He refused to break! He couldn’t break…

In the cell a floor above him, Vasiliy Makarov sat curled up in the darkest corner and he stared emptily into the shadows, absently twisting at the chains around his left wrist...

No more than two cells away from Graves; Theseus Scamander was trembling helplessly on the ground as the Dementors gathered outside of his door and his window. 

And in the basement of the Ministry of London, Credence Barebone finally stopped screaming. No matter what they did to him after that, he would not scream again, merely shed silent tears and shiver softly.

Percival closed his eyes, trying to block out Ben’s laughter. Broken or not, he was starting to realize that he would die there. There was no way out.

That was when the door to his cell opened.

-

Percival lifted his head and was numbly surprised to see not a Dementor, but a human stepping into his cell. 

It was a dark haired man he’d never seen before.  
Slowly lowering his hands, Graves blinked once, as if to see if he had gone over to hallucinating people as well as voice now. ( _“That’s not how I looked”_ , Ben whispered. _“He **is** pretty though.”_)

“Percival Graves?” The man said, dressed in dark clothes and wearing a black robe with a hood he’d pushed back. “My name is Wane Bathory.”

Blinking again, Percival automatically went through his mental archive of who’s who in the wizarding world. Bathory. A Hungarian wizarding family. Dark arts. The man looked younger than Graves would have thought him to be, based on where he placed him on the Bathory family tree.

When he got no response, Wane took a step forward. “Mr. Graves, I need you to answer me. I need to know you’re still sane or if I’m wasting my time.”

Percival frowned. “Why are you here?”

With a huff of relief, Wane smiled a little. “I’m not too late. Excellent.” He crouched down to be on Percival’s level. “I’m here to help you.”

Percival frowned even deeper. “Why?”

“Well,” Wane began, “maybe it’s more correct to say that I’ve come to give you an offer!” He was met with a continued blank stare. “As you may have deducted, Mr. Graves, I work for Gellert Grindelwald. We want you to join us.”

“Tried that, didn’t work,” Percival still wasn’t sure whether this was real or not.

“Grindelwald is offering you a clean slate, no hard feelings about past incidents,” the man replied. “He’s giving you a way out of Azkaban, Mr. Graves. Surely that is not something to be discarded that easily.”

Percival shook his head with a huff. This most definitely had to be a hallucination!

“We haven’t much time,” Wane lowered his voice. “I hear the Dementors are especially attracted to Theseus Scamander. They haven’t had someone with such a bright personality in here before. Most prisoners are dark souls or injured individuals, you know. Scamander has always been renowned for his good cheer and positive attitude. That’s a feast to a Dementor.”

Instantly focused with renewed energy, Percival stared intently at this Wane Bathory. “Theseus is alive? Makarov?”

“They’re both alive,” Wane confirmed.

Dreading what it meant for Theseus to be the prized meal of Azkaban, Graves made a rash decision. “Can you get us out of here?”

Wane smiled victoriously. “Yes.”

“How?”

“The same way I got in, more or less,” was the reply. Wane tipped his head with fake modesty. “I dabble in Potion making and I have a potion that hides heat from the Dementors. They can’t sense me; my body reads as a dead person to them which make me of no interest.”

Percival hesitated. “Why would Gellert want to help me?”

“Because you can help us,” Wane insisted gently. “You did not become what you are because of blind luck, Mr. Graves. You’re an asset and you shouldn’t be rotting away in Azkaban for the murder of a lunatic. Let us help you now and you will help us later. Do we have a deal?”

“Theseus, Makarov, they come too,” Percival stated absently. “And I’m not doing anything before I find Credence.” A deal with the devil to save the ones he loved. He could live with that.

“Deal.”

-

“I will mix it into your food,” Bathory had told him before he straightened and pulled his hood back up. “Tomorrow. I will see you again, on the outside.” He had then left and Percival wondered if he had just made another huge mistake. 

Maybe. But he didn’t care. If it got him what he wanted, he had reached the point where he didn’t care about the price or the consequences. Grindelwald, Seraphina, Fawley… It didn’t matter which one Graves teamed up with; they either wanted him dead or as their scapegoat. The only thing that _did _matter was getting Credence, Theseus and the stupid Russian out of danger and to safety.__

____

The next day, Percival didn’t hesitate to eat the meal brought to him; even if he could taste there was something definitely off about the food. Not that Azkaban offered fine dining, but there was a metallic aftertaste that lingered long after he’d swallowed the last piece.  
Wane Bathory had clearly held his end of the bargain.

Graves started feeling a light prickling sensation in his fingertips, followed by getting drowsy and cold. He could sense his body rebelling against whatever was happening, his heart and lungs were fighting to function, but whatever was mixed in the food was powerful and he could feel himself grow increasingly paralyzed.

There was a moment when Percival wondered if Bathory had lied to him, had poisoned him with something truly lethal, and strangely enough; he wasn’t even upset at the prospect. Either way, it meant getting out of Azkaban. ( _“Coward”_ , Ben whispered.)

That was the last thing he could remember before he woke with a desperate gasp for air. Percival felt himself arch off whatever he was lying on, his muscles cramping up and his mind scrambling to reboot. Coughing and continuing to gasp for air, he sank back down and tried to make his eyes focus.

“Easy,” a voice said. “Take it easy. It’s a natural reaction to the potion.”  
Wane Bathory’s face swam into focus as he was leaning over him and Percival flinched away.  
“Keep breathing, that’s it,” Bathory instructed, and after Graves had caught his breath somewhat; he helped him sit up. “Careful. Your balance might be off for a little bit. Give your body a chance to recover.”

Percival shook his head, still groggy and fighting against weak tremors going through him. He had no time to waste. He cast a couple of quick glances around the unfamiliar room he was currently in, but didn’t get that much wiser from what he saw. It was modestly furnished, but had a couple of beds and several tables with vials and bottles. He was the only one there.  
“The others?” He choked out.

Wane gave him a thin smile and handed him a cup with some liquid. “Soon. Here, drink this. It’ll help.”

It was probably stupid to accept anything else from Bathory, the last thing had sent him into a paralyzed coma, but Percival took the cup with a trembling hand and drank it anyway. If the man wanted him dead, then dead he would be. 

-

It took hours before Percival was able to get up and stay on his feet. His body kept twitching and trembling, struggling with the aftermath of what it had been through, but it was only a minor annoyance compared to the fact that Theseus and Makarov were still on the island.

Bathory had brought Graves to the outskirts of a small village on the coast closest to Azkaban, where he had rented a lighthouse to get them their privacy. 

“We had a deal,” Percival ground out, still weak but able to stand and hover behind Bathory as he was preparing some sort of potion. “You said you could get them out as well.”

Sighing, clearly running out of patience, Wane put a cork in a bottle and shook it gently. “And I said soon.” He put the bottle down and reached for a new one.

Percival felt his temper flaring up, too exhausted and with too many raw emotions flooding him to hold it back, he was then interrupted by the front door opening. Startled, he automatically went into a battle stance, but Wane placed a calming hand on his shoulder as he walked past him and over to two men, who entered with a long, lumpy bag carried between them.  
“Over there,” Wane ordered, pointing towards one of the beds and the men shuffled over to place their baggage on top of it. He then waved them away and Percival watched them warily as they left without a word, closing the door behind themselves. Then he moved over to watch as Wane brought out a knife and began opening the bag.

Nausea hit Percival hard as he realized it was in fact a body bag.

He drew a sharp breath when the bag revealed the pale and lifeless Theseus inside it. Graves automatically took another step forward, but Wane lifted a hand to signal him to wait, so he did, and merely watched as Bathory opened the bottle he’d picked up and began dripping small drops of the liquid inside it into Theseus’ mouth.

No wonder the Dementors didn’t react to them being smuggled out like this. Theseus was pale, his lips almost blue, was he even breathing? 

Moments later, he was. Theseus’ eyes shot open and he gasped desperately for air.

Percival shoved Wane to the side and reached out to cup Theseus’ face. “Theseus, it’s okay. Breathe. I know it’s hard, but just focus on breathing.” It was horrible to see how ragged and terrified the usually so cheerful man looked. “I’m here. It’s me, Theseus. It’s Percy.”

The words had an instantaneous effect and dazed green eyes moved to focus on him. Theseus kept gulping down air, staring at him as if he was afraid he’d disappear if he blinked, and slowly his body calmed down enough for him to speak. “How…?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Graves replied. He closed his eyes and leaned down to rest his forehead against his, feeling Theseus reaching up to take a desperate hold of his shoulders as well. 

Theseus’ recovery was slower than Graves’, so when he was stable enough; they left him to rest, while Percival dragged Wane outside the lighthouse.  
“Where is Makarov?”

Bathory sighed. “Graves, we broke two people out of Azkaban today. We managed that because they think you’re dead. Officially, you two are buried out there. We were pushing the limit by bringing out the both of you. Three wouldn’t have been possible! Maybe in a month or two.”

Percival blinked, then his eyes narrowed and he leaned close to speak in a dangerously quiet tone; “Get him out. Now.”

“We got Scamander for you, surely that’s enough?” Wane huffed. “You barely know this Russian. Do you really want to jeopardize everything because of him?”

“His name is Vasiliy Makarov,” Percival ground out with quiet fury. “He’s on MY team. He’s mine. You promised me you could get us out, all of us, so you’d better get him out, now, or I’ll get him myself and later I’ll come after you.”

There was a flicker of anger, and something that Percival was willing to bet was the real Wane behind his deceptively puppy dog eyes, before the mask slid back into place and Bathory gave an obliging nod. “Very well.”

-

Below street level, in the Department of Mysteries inside the Ministry of Magic in London, a small group of Unspeakables were glancing from their notes to their subject and back to their notes.

Few of them had encountered an Obscurial before, none of them had even heard of someone surviving beyond the age of ten with that infliction, so their subject was of great interest not only to them but to the entire Ministry.

In the past, the Obscurial had been protected by Percival Graves, but not anymore. With Graves out of the way, Fawley had given them free access to the Obscurial with instructions to learn all there was to learn.  
Of course, it was unfortunate that a lot of their initial tests had turned out to be quite painful, but they had to run their trials to gather information.

Some had balked at the idea of exposing someone who had been tormented into an Obscurial state to more pain, but as Fawley had pointed out; Barebone was a very special case.

They needed to know what had allowed the boy to survive where others had not and they needed to know just how dangerous the Obscurus was.

During the first couple of weeks, the Obscurial had tried to communicate with them, but the Unspeakables knew it was unwise to become friendly with the subject of their research. They learned pretty fast to keep their emotions and their work separate.

By the time the Obscurial reached his limit of what he could stand of their tests, of their refusing his desperate pleas for news about his companions and he began resisting them; they had learned how to sedate him to incapacitate the Obscurus.

They all pretended to be relieved when he stopped screaming, claiming it made it easier to work, but they were lying. The Obscurial’s silence made for an eerie atmosphere and several of them felt jabs of guilt at the quiet tears he shed. They did not take any pleasure in breaking a soul!

Still, they had work to do.

They had to take Credence Barebone apart, piece by piece, examine what they found, prod him and push him, note down what triggered what, and see what kind of potions and charms could be created from him. 

After all, what was a single life when they had to think of the greater good of defeating Grindelwald?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fighting to reunite with Makarov and Credence...

It was late at night when Percival entered the sleeping quarters in the lighthouse. He was surprised to see that Theseus was still awake. In fact, the man was standing by the window, arms crossed, staring out towards where he knew Azkaban was located.  
Graves was _not_ surprised to see the tension in Theseus’ shoulders. He walked over to him. “Are you okay…?”

“Define okay,” Theseus answered quietly. He didn’t take his eyes off the horizon. “What about Vasiliy and Credence?”

Sighing, Percival leaned against the wall next to the window. “Bathory is getting Makarov out tomorrow, or so he says. If not, I’ll think of something.” He paused. “They say Credence is in London. At the Ministry.”

Theseus frowned. “They won’t kill him, he’s too valuable, but they will be hurting him.” He spoke in an absent manner, as if reciting it from a letter, void of emotion.

“I know.” Percival clamped down hard on that thought, unable to deal with it, forcing himself to focus on what he could do. “Once we have Makarov, we’ll go get him.”

Silence followed, each man lost in his own thoughts, before Percival straightened slightly. “You should get some sleep. Whatever Bathory gave us, it was powerful stuff and we’re going to need all our strength to get Makarov on his feet tomorrow and travel towards London.”

Theseus didn’t answer, nor did he move for several seconds, but eventually he turned away from the window and made his way over to one of the beds.

Percival decided to take his own advice and get some sleep as well. While Bathory had secured new clothes for them, Graves was still glad to shed the cheap shirt, but decided to keep his pants on before crawling under the sheets. His body was exhausted, but his mind kept churning.  
_“The Russian is probably dead,”_ Ben whispered. _“And if anything is left of your boy in London, you’ll probably arrive just in time to watch it die too.”_

-Shut up! Graves squeezed his eyes tight as he felt a lick of panic up his spine, but he forced it down, away. He couldn’t think like that… He couldn’t…

_“And this was entirely your fault, you know,”_ Ben continued. _“You were supposed to protect them and you failed. They trusted you!”_  
Guilt made it hard to breathe but Percival was snapped out of it as he heard Theseus getting out of bed. He sat up and saw the man pause on his way over to the window again.

“I can’t stop thinking,” Theseus explained, casting an anxious look over at the window.

Percival had no trouble relating. He hesitated, but eventually pulled the sheet aside in a silent invite.  
Theseus cast a final look at the window before he slowly shuffled over and crawled into bed with him. It didn’t change anything, they both fought with their own heavy thoughts, but it still felt a little better with the physical contact that reassured them that they were not alone anymore. At least Ben went quiet...

And, Percival added to his things that would not be examined too closely; how thin and fragile Theseus felt, curled up with his back towards him.

-

“Are they asleep?” Scar asked, touching and rearranging stuff on the desk because he knew it annoyed the other man.

“I think so,” Wane replied, grabbing a vial out of his hand. 

“I heard Graves gave you trouble.”

Exhaling, Wane placed the vial back in its rightful place and shrugged. “I miscalculated his possessiveness. I thought it only included the Obscurial and Scamander. None of my research pointed towards him having any loyalty towards the Russian. Minor detail. Easily corrected.”

Scar smirked, moving over to sit down in Wane’s office chair. He picked up the cage he’d brought with him and peered in to the creature inside it. “He’s a pack leader, Wane. They look after their own.”

“He’s not a damn Nandu!” Wane snapped, not bothering to hide his annoyance now.

Shrugging, Scar kept his focus on the creature. “It’s just that this is your second mistake now, Wane. That’s not like you at all.” He put the cage down and got up to approach the other man again. “When you tipped the Ministry about their whereabouts, you failed to calculate how difficult it would be for you to get into Azkaban. You were lucky Graves was still sane.” 

Wane gritted his teeth, hating with every fiber of his body being reminded of this. Wane Bathory didn’t make mistakes! He’d built his entire reputation on it! And yet, Graves and his trio had made him fumble, not once, but twice! Resentment bubbled in Wane’s throat.

Scar reached out and placed a finger on top of a bottle, rocking it gently back and forth. “If Barebone is broken, Grindelwald will feed you to my pets, you know.”

“I know,” Wane snarled, turning his glare directly at the other man. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Not taking his eyes, or his finger, off the bottle, Scar gave that little snake smile of his. “I’m very particular about what I feed my pets. I know you live on a healthy diet, so I see no problem with it. You’d be contributing to the greater good either way.”

Wane moved close enough for Scar to feel his breath on his skin as he spoke. “Your creatures aren’t the only ones with a thirst for blood, Scar. Now, did you bring me what I asked for?”

Scar nodded.

“Excellent.” Wane turned away, mild and almost cheerful again. “Now I must prepare to revive Makarov, so if you’ll excuse me! Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.”

Scar glanced over at the cage while Wane left the room. “Be careful around him, my friend.” He walked over to crouch down to have a final look at the silver-green lizard. “And be careful inside the Ministry.”  
Humans were predictable and humans failed, but his pets could be trusted and they always delivered.

-

Most of the next day was spent waiting. Percival was pacing, trying to will the remains of the potion out of his system as he still felt reduced, while Theseus spent hours staring out the window.  
He did not like how quiet his friend had become, but he had no idea how to help. Percival Graves was not someone who put things back together; he was the one you called when you wanted them torn apart.

It was late afternoon when the door finally opened and the two men Percival had seen before came in with an uncomfortably familiar bag carried between them.

“Any problems?” Wane asked, following them to the room where he’d awakened the others. Percival and Theseus followed as well.

“He twitched,” one of the man muttered. “Carrying him out; he twitched. Luckily they didn’t notice, but he twitched.”

Frowning, Wane nodded. He pulled out a knife and began cutting up the bag, completely ignoring the men leaving, as well as Percival and Theseus taking up positions on the opposite side of the bag.

Percival saw Theseus react to how pale and lifeless Makarov appeared and wanted to reach out and say something… anything… but he kept quiet and focused on what Wane was doing. Makarov would be okay soon and that would be better than any words he could come up with.

Bathory opened a small bottle and forced the liquid into Makarov’s mouth. He put the cork back in the bottle and declared; “It shouldn’t take more than a few moments. I trust you can handle this, Mr. Graves?”

Percival nodded. He would actually be more comfortable if Wane wasn’t in the room when Makarov came to, giving him and Theseus privacy to reunite. Graves doubted the Russian had come from Azkaban unscathed as well and it wasn’t reassuring to see how Theseus had fixated completely on his lifeless partner.

Just as Wane turned his back on them to leave the room, Makarov suddenly began convulsing. His body was cramping so hard his back actually arched off the bed. Percival felt a stab of fear at the violent behavior. “What’s happening to him?”

Bathory darted back to them, shedding his jacket and pulling out his wand. “Hold him down. He’s having an allergic reaction to the antidote.”

Percival and Theseus did as they were told and could only watch as Wane called out some kind of healing spell and did a small movement with his wand. Once he had done that, he pocketed his wand again and pushed Theseus out of the way to take a hold of Makarov himself. “Over on his side. Facing me. Now.”

They managed to get Makarov on his side, just in time as he suddenly heaved and threw up.

He heaved a couple of times and the convulsions turned into softening tremors, to the relief of both Percival and Theseus. Graves stood behind Makarov, holding one hand on his shoulder and one hand against his back to support him, while Wane stood in front of him, careful to avoid his own potion being thrown back up, and Theseus hovered at the head of the bed; clearly anxious.

-

Eventually the Russian stopped heaving and seemed to calm down, so Wane leaned a little closer. “I think that’s it. That should do it.”

They could see Makarov’s eyelashes flutter. He was waking up. Bleary grey eyes tried to focus while his body occasionally trembled, so there was no warning before his hand suddenly shot out and he punched Wane Bathory right in the face; sending him stumbling backwards.  
Disoriented, Makarov began flailing and scrambling to either sit up or flee in whatever direction he could.

“Vasya!” Theseus called out, instantly by his side and tried to get a hold of his wrists. “Vasya, it’s okay. Ease down, soldier.”

Makarov struggled for a few more seconds, but then the words seemed to cut through the fog and he slumped down on the bed to stare up at Theseus. He frowned a little and asked something in Russian. 

Theseus gave him a sad smile, gently cupping his face with one hand. “You know I’m still not fluent in Russian, sweetheart.”

Hesitating, still confused, Makarov slowly reached up and took a hold of Theseus’ upper arm, digging his fingers in. “You are real?”

The sadness increased in Theseus’ eyes. “It’s me.” He drew a shivering breath and nodded towards the other side of the bed. “Percy’s here too.”

Percival straightened a bit and gave a little nod when the Russian glanced over at him.

Makarov seemed to process this, even glanced briefly over at the stranger clutching his nose and cursing, before focusing on Theseus again. “Credence?”

“We’re getting him next,” Theseus answered, moving his hand up to card his fingers through Makarov’s unusually messy hair. “He’s in London. But we couldn’t leave without you.”

Sitting up, with no small amount of difficulty, Vasiliy shivered and closed his eyes. “You should have.”

“You’re one of us,” Percival shot in, at least sounding as calm and confident as ever. “We don’t leave one of our own behind.”

Theseus carefully slid his arms around Makarov’s broad shoulders and gently urged him closer, knowing how the physical contact had made both him and Percival feel better. “You’re not alone anymore, Vasya.”

The three of them were finally together again, but one was still missing… Credence’s absence cut like a knife. Ben began whispering again…  
Percival hesitated, then reached out and placed a gentle hand on Makarov’s back, feeling him breathe and move and being alive under the touch, it felt reassuring, before he shifted nothing but his gaze over at Wane Bathory. “When do we leave for London?”

-

Bathory wasn’t happy, clearly having his nose broken wasn’t something he enjoyed, so he stated, rather curtly, that they’d head towards London when Makarov would be able to handle it. Instantly, the Russian insisted he was fine and that they could travel at once.  
They compromised that he’d rest that evening and they would leave early the next day.  
Percival Graves kept hassling Bathory for information, growing increasingly restless as he was finally one step closer to reclaiming Credence, but Wane merely kept repeating they’d know more when they arrived in London. He was a master of the art of answering questions without giving answers.

Percival was restless and tense, but he tried to hide it. Theseus and Makarov did not need any more worries.  
He’d hoped the reunion of the two might ease what they’d been through, but Ben’s whisper about it not being that easy was proven right when he entered the sleeping quarters that night and found Theseus staring out the window yet again and no sign of Makarov.

“You’re still up?” Percival asked, uneasy. “Where’s Makarov?”

Theseus shrugged. “He wanted to go for a run. You know him and his exercising. I thought I’d wait up for him.”

Makarov had been quiet and filled with coiled tension since his awakening, much like the two of them, but to go running while he was still reduced by the potion? That didn’t sit well with Percival.  
Sighing, he studied Theseus and found him so exhausted that he was just about swaying on his feet. Graves prepared for bed, climbed in and called out for him. This time, Theseus didn’t hesitate before moving over and sliding under the sheets next to him.

They never heard Makarov come back, merely found him sitting in the kitchen the next morning.

The next day, Wane handed them each a bottle, revealing it was Polyjuice to hide their appearances on their journey and they boarded an ancient looking train to bring them to London. 

During the journey, Wane was busy reading a book, while Percival paid attention to Theseus sleeping on Makarov’s shoulder and the Russian staring out at the landscape passing them by.  
The affection was still there, the two were still drawn and attached to the other, but the shadow of Azkaban hung heavy over them all. They had all been through horrible things…  
And Graves had a sneaking suspicion that the Ministry had not treated Credence any more gently than what they had been exposed to. 

-Hang in there, Credence, Percival thought. –Please hold on, for me. We’re coming to get you.

He firmly ignored the brief and flickering reflection of Ben in the window as the train passed through a tunnel and his whisper of; _“You’re too late, buddy. You won’t be able to save him.”_

Hours later, he slipped into a restless sleep while letting the train bring him increasingly closer to London and Credence…

-

They arrived in London without any major incidents. At King’s Cross, Wane picked up his baggage, including a small cage, and walked off with a sharp; “This way.”  
Fifteen minutes later, they had arrived at a small-ish apartment, about thirty minutes of walking time away from the Ministry.  
“I’m going to head out, talk to some people,” Wane said, picking up the cage again. “You guys stay here. That Polyjuice is the best in the world, but the place is crawling with Aurors and we don’t want to take any chances now that we’re this close to getting your boy back, right?” He gave his pretty smile. “It’s late anyway and it’s been a long journey. Get some sleep. We got a lot of planning to do tomorrow! Because; a goal without a plan is just a wish.”

When the door closed behind him, Percival struggled to contain his impatience. It had been tough to be trapped in the lighthouse, waiting for Bathory to free Theseus and Makarov, but to be only thirty minutes away from Credence and be unable to reach him? That was unbearable!

He shed his disguise and the other two did the same. They were all tense and restless, barely speaking, and when Wane returned; it was only to inform them that things were going according to plan and that he’d return again the next day to plan the extraction of Credence.

Percival tried to get some sleep, he really did, but Ben’s whispers wouldn’t let him. What if tomorrow was too late? What if he could have saved Credence if he hadn’t waited this long? What if, what if…

Giving up, he wandered into the kitchen and was a little surprised to see Makarov there. The Russian seemed lost in his own thoughts, like they all were these days, sipping something from a solid mug, and Graves was almost relieved to see that something was back to normal.  
“Should you be drinking when we got an early start tomorrow?” He asked, keeping his tone mild and light, not accusing. He didn’t even blame him for reaching for his vodka this time.

Starting violently, Makarov then calmed as he realized who it was. He managed a faint smile and held up his cup for a moment. “Coffee. Just coffee.”

When had he started drinking coffee? Percival sank down to sit by the table as well. “Theseus?”

“Asleep.”

Nodding, Graves let silence fill the room once again and eventually it was Makarov who broke it.  
“Tomorrow we get Credence. He is strong, stronger than people think, tomorrow we bring him home. It will be okay.”

Surprised that the Russian could read his concern so easily and that he offered encouragement, Percival gave a weak but grateful smile. “Thank you.” And he did have a point; Credence was strong. No one else had survived an Obscurus, but he had! He survived Mary Lou Barebone and dark magic; Credence would survive this as well!

And when morning came, Percival was more than ready to finally get Credence back!

Wane brought a blueprint over the Ministry’s floors and Theseus would point out flaws, traps and anything worth knowing. The place was mostly built to keep things inside, not to prevent wizards from breaking in from the outside.  
Handing them each a new Polyjuice potion, Wane also handed them a watch each. He made sure they were all synched. After they entered the Ministry, they had fifteen minutes to get down to the correct level, find Credence and be at the rendezvous point.

“Where will you be?” Graves asked, slipping the watch into his pocket. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“No, this is all up to you three,” Wane declared with a slight smirk. “I’m going to be waiting outside. I’ll be your ticket out of there, boys, but we only get one try at this. Don’t mess it up.”

“We won’t,” Theseus promised, in a voice that sent a chill down Percival’s spine for some reason.

-

Getting into the Ministry, to the Atrium and to the lift to the Department of Mysteries was hardly a challenge. Theseus knew the place from top to bottom, knew each person who worked there and how to get past them, slow and careful, but the final challenge was to enter the Department itself.  
The Entrance Chamber, which was designed to disorient any unauthorized personnel who entered it, would have been close to impossible for them to solve; if not for the creature Wane had brought to London in the cage.

Percival stuck his hand into his pocket and lifted out the small lizard, putting it on the floor.

They watched as it scurried around , sniffing by each of the twelve handleless doors they were facing, before it settled by one of them. Wane had told them the lizard would hone in on Credence’s magic.

Inside the door, there strangely enough were no wizards to be seen. It was a large and dark room, barely lit up by blue flames, with seven stone benches on a row in the middle of it. One lone bookcase stood there, surrounded by the remains of what probably had been other bookcases around the room, along with debris containing books and bottles; showing clear signs of how there had been a clash of magic there.

Graves took a step forward, heart pounding.

On the stone bench furthest away from them, almost hidden in the darkness, he could make out a shape strapped down on it. He did not need a lizard to tell him what his senses were screaming at him; “Credence.” The name slipped from his lips before he could prevent himself.

Running over, Graves couldn’t believe it. Finally. FINALLY! Percival reached out and touched that beautiful and familiar face. He felt warm, he was breathing, Ben had been wrong. He was alive!

Credence, it was indeed him, not that Graves had doubted his heart for one second, was lying with his eyes closed and appeared even paler than when he’d met the boy for the very first time. Percival noted the magical bindings holding him down and itched to tear them all away. “Credence?”

No reaction. Credence was either under a spell or unconscious. He almost seemed unharmed; asleep.

Graves grit his teeth, forcing his temper under control so he wouldn’t start tearing the Ministry apart, and began to free Credence instead. Makarov stepped up on the other side of the stone bench and helped as well.

They were so focused on this task that they didn’t hear someone approaching before a voice called out; “Who are you?” An Unspeakable was standing by the one remaining bookcase. “What are you doing here and what do you think you’re doing?” The Unspeakable drew his wand and Percival tensed up, channeling magic into his right hand. Maybe, if he was quick, he could take out the Unspeakable before he raised the alarm…

A shadow moved behind the Unspeakable and Percival could only stare as Theseus stepped up next to the wizard and promptly slammed a large wooden plank, probably a ledge from the bookshelves, into the guy’s face so hard it actually shattered and the Unspeakable flew backwards.

Theseus walked over to where the man landed, prodded him with his foot, got no reaction, and then turned back to the stunned Percival and Makarov. “We’re running out of time. Hurry.”

Blinking, Graves forced himself back to the task at hand and the Russian did the same. Three minutes to go and if they weren’t where they were supposed to be; Bathory would leave without them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Credence is back!

Credence, his Credence, was finally free of his restrictions and Percival didn’t hesitate to slide his arms under his still form and lift him up. He hoisted him a little, settling one arm under his knees and one behind his back, feeling Credence’s head coming to a rest against his neck; Graves nodded to the impatient Theseus. “Let’s go.”

Makarov took the lead. He found the door leading to the small hallway they’d seen on the blueprint, headed down toward the south-east room where Bathory had said he’d meet them. Theseus and Graves, still with Credence safely in his arms, followed.

They had just entered the room when they heard voices shouting; clearly someone had found the Unspeakable Theseus had taken care of and discovered that Credence was gone.

Makarov checked his watch. “Two minutes left. If they discover us…”

Percival tensed up, knowing he was the most powerful wizard of the three and he was also able to fight with both hands, but he was reluctant to let go of Credence for one second.

Theseus pulled out his wand. “I’ll keep them occupied.”

Frowning, Graves sent him a stern glare. “Wait. Don’t run into battle, you idiot. We won’t fight them unless we have to. Don’t reveal our presence and don’t bring the entire Ministry down on us.”

The shouting continued, slowly coming closer, but time passed and finally the two minutes were up! On the final second of the final minute, there came a low rumbling sound from the wall. Suddenly it collapsed in a smoking heap.

Makarov glanced from one to the other before he stepped through the smoke and into the darkness. Blinking, he realized he found himself inside a huge underground tunnel. “Seuska. Graves. Come.”

“Wow,” Theseus breathed as he and Graves stepped into the dirt tunnel. “How did they do this?”

Percival hugged Credence a little closer. “I’ll be sure to ask Bathory later. Let’s get out of here.”

They hadn’t gotten far before suddenly the voices were uncomfortably close and a lightning spell shot by them.

Makarov and Theseus both pulled out their wands but before Percival could say or do anything; Theseus was stalking towards their followers and shot off spell after spell. He held his own for about twenty seconds before a barrage of stunning spells came at him and he failed to deflect them all.  
Graves and Makarov ducked down, avoiding being hit, and Percival was forced to lay Credence gently down on the ground to fire back at the Unspeakables; so Makarov could retrieve the British idiot. Once Theseus had been pulled back to where Credence was, Percival muttered some colorful profanities under his spell casting. “How in Merlin’s name are we supposed to carry them both out and keep those cretins at bay?” He was wary about using spells on an already spell-bound Credence.

The Russian stopped firing and moved a couple of steps behind Percival, out of range for the stunning spells, and the man abruptly shape-changed into a draught horse.

For a moment, Percival merely stared at the muscular brown horse with white fetlocks and black mane and tail, then he blurted out; “You’re an Animagus?” Graves frowned. “You never registered that! That’s a blatant violation of the Wizarding laws, you know.”

The horse pulled its ears back flat in a clearly irritated expression of; Really?

“Right,” Percival mumbled, slightly embarrassed that he slipped so easily back into old habits. He picked Credence up again, carefully laying him over the horse’s broad back, before he did the same with Theseus. “Ok, go.”

-

The horse walked as fast as it could without dislodging its precious cargo, while Percival covered their escape and forced the other wizards to keep their distance.  
If they really thought he’d give up Credence as long as he was still breathing; they were in for a surprise! He was never letting him go again.

After what seemed like a small eternity of making their way through this dark and damp tunnel, slick soil surrounding them on all sides, the horse suddenly whinnied.

Percival glanced over his shoulder and saw light a mere hundred meters away. “Almost there. Good. Keep going.”

Their pursuers had tapered off, but there was still the occasional spell sent after them, so he didn’t dare turn his back on the darkness just yet.

They had just reached the exit when a person stepped forward. Percival was just about to stun him when he recognized Bathory.

“Oh,” Wane said, spotting the two on the horse. “You got him. Excellent.”

“Yeah,” Percival replied. “But we also got company. We need to get out of here.” 

“Don’t worry,” Wane smiled. He sent the horse an approving look. “You’re an Animagus, Makarov? That wasn’t in your file. Interesting.”

The horse’s ears went flat again, so Percival cleared his throat. “We better get moving. They’re right behind us.”

Bathory motioned for them to follow him outside the tunnel, a huge hole which had been dug right out of the wall of a basement, and then he turned back and gave a sharp whistle that echoed through said tunnel. Moments later, there was a rumbling sound again and suddenly the tunnel began to collapse.

Graves barely noticed Makarov turning back to his human form, stumbling under the combined weight of Credence and Theseus. “What…? How…?”

“Some friends of a friend of mine,” Wane revealed with a smooth smile.

“I’m a friend now?” A stranger’s voice said and they all turned to see a dark haired man stand by the basement stairs. “That’s touching, Wane.”

“This is Scar,” Wane said, gesturing towards the man. “He specializes in… non-humans.”

Percival was surprised to feel something squirming in his pocket and to find that the small lizard had somehow found its way back there, but it was now eagerly heading towards the newcomer. 

Scar picked up the lizard, checked it for injuries and headed back up the stairs.

Wane sighed. “A man's manners are a mirror in which he shows his portrait.” He turned to Percival, only to discover that he’d turned his back on him as well; fully focused on the unconscious Credence.

-  
A spell brought Theseus back and he got up on his feet unsteadily, leaning on Makarov.  
Any attempt to wake Credence was in vain, and eventually Wane declared it would be better to return to the apartment and continue their efforts there. They disapparated back to the apartment, where Bathory had access to his vials and potions and placed Credence on the sofa there.

Percival was torn between telling the man to keep his paws off Credence and the fact that he could possibly help where he was unable to. Clenching his jaw hard, he tried to keep his temper in check.

Theseus took a still unsteady step forward to watch as Wane waved his wand over Credence.

“What’s gotten into you?” Percival hissed, finally finding an ideal outlet for his frustration. “Were you planning on taking on the entire Ministry alone? That was a stupid move, Scamander!”

“They were going to prevent us from leaving,” Theseus bit back, not taking his eyes off Credence. 

“So you decided you were going to defeat them all? On your own?” Percival scoffed. “That worked out well, didn’t it?”

“They got lucky.”

“No,” Graves deadpanned. “You acted foolishly. You know better than that.” He was about to continue to voice his opinion on Theseus’ escapade when he saw Wane take a step backwards with a tense look. He stepped up next to Theseus and saw what had made the man concerned; black smoke was starting to seep from Credence.  
“Out,” Percival said in a calm voice. “Everybody get out of the room. Especially you, Theseus.”

“I’m not afraid of it anymore,” Theseus argued, stubborn and almost angry.

“I know,” Graves replied solemnly, “and that is precisely why I don’t want you here.”

Theseus looked like he wanted to argue some more, but luckily Makarov took a hold of his arm and pulled him along. Seconds later, Percival was alone with Credence and the black smoke was covering most of the floor and beginning to slide dark tendrils up the walls; it was as if the Obscurus was trying to map out the room. It moved sluggishly. 

“Credence,” Percival called out in a soft voice. “Listen to my voice, my boy. I need you to come back to me now. Do you hear me?”

Was it just his imagination, or did Credence’s eyelashes flutter?

“Credence…” Taking a step closer, Percival froze as he felt the darkness coil around his leg and it wasn’t a friendly touch. Seconds later, he felt it coil around both of his wrists too. Its touch was as cold as ever, but this time there was also a simmering anger in the Obscurus; it wouldn’t hesitate to tear him apart.

Percival Graves swallowed hard, acknowledging the dangerous situation he was in. “I know you’re scared, Credence. I know you’re angry. I’m angry too. But I need you to come back to me.”

Cold pressure slid up his back and moments later, a black tendril wrapped itself around his throat.

“I don’t blame you if you want to kill me,” Percival continued, “You trusted me to protect you and I failed. So kill me, if you want to, but look at me first, dammit!”

Credence’s eyes opened.

-

Percival felt like he’d been hit by a spell. His heart jumped and he almost forgot to breathe. “Credence…”

For a moment, Credence merely stared up at the ceiling, but then he blinked a couple of times and a faint frown marred his features. It was as if he was slowly realizing he was not in the Department of Mysteries anymore.  
Credence blinked again and then slowly turned his head. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Percival and the black smoke holding him dissolved instantly.

Graves exhaled in relief and stalked towards him. “Credence, I…” He froze again as the younger man flinched away at his movement, shoulders hunched and a trembling hand held up defensively. It was almost like watching time turn back and he was facing the terrified boy he’d found on the streets.  
Almost, because now Credence appeared to be even more terrified and wary of physical contact.

Another flare of pure rage went through Percival, but he forced it down so he could focus on Credence, instead of what he wanted to do to the people responsible for this. He moved closer, carefully, and kneeled down in front of the sofa instead of sitting on it or actually touching Credence. “I’m not going to hurt you, Credence.”

Credence didn’t move at first, but eventually he slowly lowered his hand. The black smoke on the floor and covering parts of the walls still pulsated with tension, but it didn’t expand further. Credence swallowed hard, blinking again, as if he was expecting it all to be some dream he could snap himself out of, but he finally lifted his head enough to glance over at Percival again.  
It hurt to see the absence of hope in those dark eyes.

“It’s me,” Graves said, trying to reassure him. “It’s not a spell, not a dream or a hallucination…” He tried a faint smile. “I hope you’d dream me up with better clothes than this and preferably in a luxury hotel instead of this place…”

That made the corner of Credence’s mouth tug at what could have been a smile, but his eyes were still horribly flat. 

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Percival repeated, and added; “No one is going to hurt you, okay?”

Credence studied him, either because he struggled to believe Graves was really there or because he struggled to believe his words, but he finally gave a faint nod.

Percival smiled a little, relieved, and inched a little closer. He was fighting hard against the urge to wrap his arms around the younger man, needing to feel him close, needing to feel that he was alive, needing that touch… “I just… Are you alright? I know they hurt you, but… I… “

Slowly pulling himself up into a sitting position, Credence sent a couple of careful glances around the room before he focused on Graves again. There was just sadness in his eyes now.

-

Percival explained to Credence what had happened on their end, why it had taken so long for him to come to his rescue and he told him he didn’t blame him if Credence now hated him. Credence merely shook his head.  
Once again struck by relief, Percival couldn’t stop himself anymore and reached out to touch Credence’s hand.

The second his fingers touched his skin, Credence flinched.

Percival pulled his hand away and felt like a complete monster. “I’m sorry, I…” He focused on the black smoke again, noting how it was no longer looking at him as a threat at least. “I’m not going to force you to anything, you know that right?”

There was no answer. Percival felt his stomach clench with fear and he sent Credence a disbelieving stare. “You think I would…?”

Credence shook his head again.

Graves watched him for a little while, hating the cowed posture, putting the pieces together. He drew a slow breath. “Credence… Talk to me.”

Credence stared at him, swallowing hard before opening his mouth a couple of times, but there was no sound, and then his eyes watered with despairing tears. 

“It’s okay,” Percival whispered, aching to comfort him and knowing it wouldn’t be welcome. “You don’t have to. It’s okay.” He got up on his feet, gulping down some air. “The others… Would you be okay to see Theseus and Makarov? Only if you’re up for it.”

Blinking away the tears, Credence nodded.

Nodding as well, Percival stalked out of the room. He found Theseus, Makarov and Bathory in the hallway and focused on the two he’d trust with Credence. “He’s awake. He’s not talking and he doesn’t want anyone touching him, but he’s awake. He wants to see you.”

Theseus paled and instantly headed for the living room. Makarov placed a hand on Graves’ shoulder, gave it a light squeeze, then followed Theseus ,and Percival could turn his attention to Wane.  
Grabbing a hold of Wane’s shirt collar, Graves shoved him against the wall. “I want to talk to Gellert.”

Wane didn’t seem too worried. “He’s busy.”

“I don’t care.” Percival tightened his grip. “Tell him I want to talk to him. And he better not keep me waiting, Bathory!” He released him and walked out of the apartment, out of the house and into the streets.  
He needed to walk, needed to get away for a little while, but he could not escape the sound of Ben’s laughter inside his head.

-

“Mr. Dumbledore!” A voice called out from the crowd, making the dark haired Hogwart’s professor pause and glance around. “Professor, wait!” The voice called out again.

Albus frowned, puzzled.

Finally there was movement that caught his eye and he was surprised to see Newt Scamander making his way through the people on the sidewalk and stumble towards him.  
“Newt Scamander,” Albus said, pleased to see his former student again. “How are you?”

Flustered and anxious-looking, Newt came to a halt in front of him. “Please, I need your help.”

“What’s wrong?”

Newt cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “You heard about Theseus…?”

Albus nodded solemnly. “I heard.” He still had trouble believing the man who had come to him and begged him to help prevent his younger brother from being expelled from Hogwarts had been sent to Azkaban. “I was sorry to get the news.”

“You know Theseus wouldn’t kill anyone!” Newt paused at the flat look Albus sent him before changing his statement a bit; “You know he wouldn’t do something like that if he didn’t have a good reason. He wouldn’t just kill someone! He wouldn’t attack an innocent man like they claim he did.”

“I was under the impression that your brother was heavily influenced by the American?”

Newt made a face. “Percival Graves has always been his weak spot, but Theseus wouldn’t kill on his command, not without a damn good reason.” He shook his head. “They sent him to Azkaban without a trial. They didn’t even let me get to see him once!”

Albus tensed a little at the mentioning of the infamous fortress. He’d heard quite a bit of unsettling things about Azkaban. “What…”

“Two days ago, they told me he had died.”

Dumbledore was even more saddened to hear the once so famous war-hero had succumbed in the prison. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Newt.” 

Newt merely shook his head. “They’re lying.” He leaned a little closer, eagerly. “You heard about the break in at the Ministry, right?” Scamander barely waited for Albus to nod before continuing; “I’m willing to bet my last cent on that being Theseus!”

“No one has ever escaped from Azkaban,” Albus objected. “And even if he’d managed to escape, somehow, why would the Ministry lie to you? And why in Merlin’s name would he break into the Ministry?”

“I don’t know!” Newt exclaimed. “But think about it! Nothing about this makes sense! And whoever broke into the Ministry knew exactly how to get in, get whatever they wanted and then get out as well. I’m telling you; it’s Theseus! I’m certain!”

Albus sighed, torn between what he wanted to do and what he knew he should do. “Why are you telling me this, Newt?”

“I need your help,” Newt admitted. “The only way Theseus could have escaped Azkaban is if he had help from the outside. You and I both know there is only one wizard clever and strong enough to find a way to breach that prison…”

Turning his face away, Albus felt himself tense up, even if no one had actually spoken the name out loud. Grindelwald. His former friend. His former… Albus didn’t allow himself to finish that thought. He cleared his throat and turned back to Newt. “I’ve already told the Ministry, I want nothing to do with their war.” He did not want to face Gellert again.

“This isn’t about that,” Newt insisted, pleading. “I have to save my brother and you are the only one who can help me, Professor. Please. You know Grindelwald, you know how he thinks, I need your help. Theseus needs our help.”

Everything in him screamed for him to stay out of it, to stay as far away from Gellert Grindelwald as possible, from a truth he feared, but Albus also saw the desperation in Newt Scamander’s eyes. “I will help you find Theseus, if it is indeed him, but nothing else. Now, tell me everything you know about what happened before they sent him to Azkaban…”

-

Using a transfiguration spell, Graves changed his appearance enough to safely enter one of the horrible No Maj drinking places.  
He spent a couple of hours there, drinking and mulling over what had happened with Credence, until his head was aching and he could feel his disguise getting unstable.

Reluctantly returning to the apartment, he was walking in the alley behind the building when a voice called for his attention.

“I was told you wanted to talk to me, Percival?”

Startled, Percival spun around to see Grindelwald stepping out of the shadows. He forced away his initial instinct to reach for his wand and merely straightened with a nod. So the man was in London. Just as he suspected. Grindelwald would want to see his plan succeed.

“Well…” Grindelwald smiled, holding his arms out in an overly benign gesture, “here I am.”

“The Unspeakables, everyone who touched him and the others,” Graves said, “I want them.”

Grindelwald let his arms sink down and his smile widened a fraction, his mismatched eyes glittering with amusement. “Why are you telling me?”

Anger flared up inside Percival’s chest and he took a step closer to the other wizard. “I don’t have their names. You can get them for me.”

“I could,” Grindelwald agreed, serious now, then made a thoughtful hum, “but why should I? You already promised me your allegiance in Azkaban, remember?”

“Because I want them,” Graves sneered, pure hatred in his voice. “I want them dead! Give them to me, Gellert, let me get my hands on them, and I swear, I will do whatever you want. Obey your every whim. I will **burn** the fucking world to the ground for you.”

Gellert Grindelwald slowly reached out a hand and cupped the side of Percival’s face, utterly captivated at the blind rage in the words. “Such anger… I always saw such potential in you, Percival. Your anger makes you even stronger. They were fools to hold you back.”

“Will you give them to me or not?”

Grindelwald let out a resigned sigh, fingers trailing along Percival’s jawline. “When could I ever say no to you?”

Graves wanted to say; ‘When I refused you to sacrifice Credence!’ or ‘When we wanted to be left alone!’, but he kept his mouth shut. The past was the past. Now he was fully focused on the future and the future held slaughter.

Chuckling, Grindelwald released him. “I will find their names, Percival. For you.” His smile returned and it was not a kind one. “Show them what we do to wizards who turn on their own.”

Percival’s sneer left little doubt that he would do exactly that. In the most excruciating way.

A couple of minutes later, he walked into the living room, a little calmer now that he knew his revenge would eventually be within reach, and found Credence, Theseus and Makarov waiting for him there.  
Percival’s gaze dwelled briefly on the pale and anxious Credence before he straightened into his Auror pose. “We’re staying here tonight to give Credence a chance to recover.”

The young man sent him a quick glance. He still seemed horribly tense and nervous; curled up in the sofa with Theseus next to him. It was torture to see him so broken and not be able to comfort him! 

“Don’t worry,” Percival said, softly, “I will make everything right again.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insomnia, pixies and thestrals, oh my!

Credence remembered. He remembered their capture in Brussels, the fear as he saw one after another of his friends fall and his desperation to save them. He remembered the journey back to London and arriving at the Ministry.   
Every look they sent him, every single second on that stone bench and all the pain that followed… Credence remembered it all.

At first he had done whatever they had asked of him, answered their questions to the best of his abilities, as a trade for the safety of Percival, Theseus and Vasiliy. Credence had worked at the Ministry, met these people in the hallways, so he knew these were good people and he could trust them. That was in the beginning.

He thought the pain was accidental, a horrible side-effect of what the Unspeakables were trying to achieve, but as days turned into weeks; Credence began to suspect that several of them were simply enjoying hurting him. 

They wouldn’t answer his questions about his friends, they wouldn’t tell him what the tests were for, while the pain and indignity grew worse… It became a competition to make him scream. It went on until he couldn’t take it anymore.  
His voice disappeared. Instead, his Obscurus writhed in agony and screamed inside him.

In his misery, Credence tried to conjure up scenarios where he’d be reunited with the others, looking for some kind of happy ending to this nightmare, so he wasn’t overly surprised when he opened his eyes and found himself looking at Percival.  
The surprise came when he realized it wasn’t a dream.

And yet, the fear still arose when Percival reached to touch him. Credence found his entire body tense up with anticipation of pain. Endless days where any kind of touching meant pain and constantly feeling defiled, it made him flinch away.

He didn’t want anyone touching him. Not yet. He was physically free, but not mentally.

Graves, the others, respected that, to his relief, but it didn’t take long before Credence found his need to be left alone fiercely battling against the need for feeling Percival close again. He wanted the comfort, yet didn’t quite know how to proceed…

Credence also saw he wasn’t the only one damaged by what he’d been through. Percival was a walking mess, Makarov grew increasingly weaker despite his constant disappearing to work out and Theseus… he seemed off, somehow. 

Credence studied the new guy, Wane Bathory, too. He tried to decide if he could be trusted or not…  
Watching Percival and Wane Bathory talking, low and intimate, he was a little surprised to feel a twist of jealousy emerge from the pit of his stomach.   
Wane was a gorgeous man, there was no way around that. The soft curls and the pretty mouth combined with such misdirecting eyes of innocence; it was a recipe for falling in love, or lust. 

-

Theseus waited until Percival left and for Credence to follow him, so the room was empty before he moved over to Wane. (Vasya was out running again…)

“Did you get it?” Wane asked, glancing up at him.

Holding out a thick folder, stuffed with papers, Theseus handed it to him. “I found it.”

“Excellent.”

Theseus watched as the man opened it and began leafing through the Unspeakables’ notes on their research on Credence. “You know that if you use it against him, I will gut you alive?”

Wane smirked, not looking up from the papers. “I’m aware.” He turned another paper. “But we need to know what they learned.”

“Why me. Why not ask Percy?”

“Because Percival Graves doesn’t share,” Wane replied, almost absently. “The Ministry aren’t idiots. Well, not all of them. They fully intended to make Credence into a weapon or create a weapon to use against Obscurials. We need to know if they managed to achieve that, as well as anything else interesting they wrote down which they learned from tormenting Barebone.”

Theseus’ eyes narrowed. “Don’t talk about his pain so casually.” Slamming that piece of wood into the face of the Unspeakable had eased some of the tension inside him. He could have used a stunning spell, sure, but that wouldn’t have been enough. He didn’t want to stun them. Theseus wanted to hurt them. Physically. With his own two hands. He wanted to make _them_ scream.

Beating the man unconscious, yes, it had indeed soothed Theseus for a bit, but he was still hungry for more and he did _not_ like how dismissive Wane was of Credence’s time of torment.

Sensing danger, Wane finally glanced up at him and put on a careful smile. “I apologize.” He straightened slightly. “I’m not defending what they did. It was unforgivable. Yet, disregarding these papers would mean his suffering was for nothing. If there is anything in here they can use against him, we have to be prepared.”

Theseus unclenched his hands; he’d not been aware of balling them into tight fists. “I somehow doubt you’re doing this out of the kindness of your heart. Be careful, Bathory, you only get one chance. I don’t care if you got us out of Azkaban, yet another thing I doubt you did for altruistic reasons, betray us and nothing will save you.”

“Duly noted,” Wane said, still smiling.

Nodding, Theseus forced himself to relax. 

Wane turned his attention back to the papers. “And if it makes you feel any better, I will hand these over to Graves once I’ve read through them.”

“After you’ve removed whatever you are looking for?” Theseus sniped, turning away. “One chance, Bathory. One. And don’t worry, I will inform Percy that you got these papers. Secrets aren’t our thing.”

-

Later, when Percival was showering, Credence decided he’d acted stalker-ish enough for the day and went to wait in the living room. Entering, he found Makarov by the kitchen door, inhaling more coffee and nodding absently at whatever Theseus was saying, and on the sofa; a dark haired stranger.

“Hi,” the man said, staring at Credence with eyes as black as his hair and did not blink.

Credence blinked. He noted how the man had a small pixie in his left hand, absently wiggling his fingers to give the creature something harmless to launch playful attacks at, but on his right side; Credence saw something that looked like a winged foal lying next to him, its long legs curled awkwardly underneath it and its scary-looking head was resting in his lap.

“So you can see him?” The man sounded pleased with a smile in his words. “Not everyone can see the Thestral, you know.” He glanced over as well, sliding his free hand over its sleek back. “This little guy lost his mother. She was caught by some wizards and is now condemned to pull carts to Hogwarts for the rest of her life…”

Frowning, Credence did not like the sound of that. 

“That’s how the world works now,” the man continued, almost wistful. “Those people sit in their ivory towers and decides who gets to live and die. Who is worthy and who is not.” He looked up at Credence again and his slight smile came back. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

Credence tensed up.

“That’s okay,” the stranger said, “I’m used to creatures of few words. In fact, I prefer them.” He glanced briefly at the pixie wrestling with his thumb. “My name is Scar. Is it okay if I call you Credence?”

Curious, Credence nodded.

“Well then, Credence,” Scar closed his hand gently around the pixie and put it into his pocket to focus fully on Credence, “I hear you have very special powers. They say you aren’t human.” Seeing the young man’s face turn sad, Scar’s smile widened. “Nono, Credence, that is not a bad thing. Humans, wizards and muggles alike, are weak and flawed. With few exceptions, humanity is overrated and not a club you’d want to belong to.” His black eyes flickered over Credence, as if he was trying to look under his skin and find the Obscurus. “You… If you are as special as they say you are, you are something else entirely; something magnificent.”

The words and the heavy gaze left Credence flustered.   
Percival always said that the Obscurus was a blessing, not a curse, but it was hard to believe that when everybody looked at you like you were a freak. It was nice to hear another person agree with Percival’s bold statement.

Giving a careful smile, Credence held out his hand and summoned the darkness to spring small black flames from his elbow to the tip of his fingertips. It still felt a little weak, but it was improving.

Scar sat up straight in the sofa, eyes wide with fascination. 

-

While Credence insisted on sharing the room, sharing the bed, Percival was careful to keep his hands to himself that night and give his boy the space he needed to be comfortable. He was relieved when Credence’s breathing revealed he’d fallen into a peaceful sleep, and Percival dared to turn over on his side to study that beloved face. It was hard to have him so close and not be allowed to touch him…

Percival slept badly and before dawn was breaking; he got up and more or less fled the room. He decided that since Wane had been so kind to bring a whole bunch of ingredients with him; he might as well dust off his old skills and put together a Draught of Peace.  
Sneaking out of the room, he was startled to find Makarov already awake in the living room. Percival glanced around. “Theseus?”

“Asleep,” Makarov replied quietly. “Credence?”

“Asleep,” Percival confirmed. He hesitated, then shrugged. “I was going to make some potions. Want to join?”

Considering it, Makarov picked up the cup he’d been drinking from earlier and downed the rest of his coffee in one gulp before walking over to him. “What are we making?”

Percival knew the Russian’s experience included potion making so he was surprised when Makarov made the first mistake that cost them the potion. His second mistake made Percival annoyed, but when he messed up for the third time…  
“You know this! What is wrong with you?” Percival snapped angrily.

“Nothing!” Makarov insisted, sounding more tired than defiant, “I just…” Suddenly his knees buckled and he nearly lost balance.   
Instinct made Percival reach out and grab his arm to prevent him from falling. Stabilizing him, that was when Percival abruptly noticed how horribly exhausted the man looked. He looked dead tired; his face almost grey and countless years older.

“You need to get some sleep,” Graves stated quietly, his anger gone. Now that he thought about it; when had he seen Makarov sleep last? At all? All that coffee, his running, never staying still…

If not for Percival’s grip on his arm, Makarov would probably have slumped to the floor. His legs were shaking badly, no, his entire body was shaking, and his eyes were dazed. “I am fine.”

“You have to sleep,” Percival repeated, recognizing all the signs of sleep deprivation. How had they, especially Theseus, not picked up on this? “ Makarov, you...”

“I can’t,” Makarov whispered, staring at the floor, and Percival was pained to see the grey eyes glitter with unwilling tears. “I can’t. They will come.”

Graves had never heard anyone so defeated. He hesitated, knowing if the man didn’t sleep, he’d either go insane or end up dead. How long had he gone without sleep already? 

_They_ , the Dementors… The ones who had sucked the joy out of Theseus and the fearlessness out of Makarov… How did you defeat something like that? Even the memory of it?

-

Hesitating, Percival suggested the only thing he could think of. “Listen, I understand, Merlin knows I understand, but you need to sleep or you won’t function at all. You know that.” He ignored Makarov shaking his head and kept talking; “How about this; I’ll use a spell and I’ll watch over you in the vacant bedroom. Just me, no audience. If I see any signs of something wrong, I will wake you.”

Makarov looked up at him, clearly reluctant, but in such a shattered and ruined state that he was too exhausted to put up a real fight. “Me… do not want…” He muttered something in Russian.

“I know you don’t want to, but you have to,” Percival countered in a gentle tone. How could he have failed so see how brittle the man had become? “I promise, I will be right here. I will watch over you and I will wake you up the second you seem uncomfortable. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

Still reluctant, Makarov tried to think, frowning in concentration, but he was just too tired, and ended up closing his eyes and nodding with weak defeat.

Percival lead him to the room and over to the bed, made him lie down on top of the bedspread, and tried to ignore how incredibly tense the man was. His head was barely touching the pillow, his hands had a frantic grip on the sheets, his entire body was trembling and his heels were digging in to the mattress as if he was getting ready to jump off it. Which he probably was.

Whispering a sleeping spell, Graves let his hand sink down to gently rest on Makarov’s dark hair and kept his gaze locked with the anxious grey stare. “It’s going to be fine,” he promised softly. “Relax. Don’t fight it. I’ll keep you safe.”

Exhaustion made it impossible for Makarov to resist for long and his eyes slowly drifted shut, and when they did, a couple of tears finally slipped free. Percival reached out and carefully wiped them away; knowing Makarov would hate for anyone, especially him, to see that.

Sinking into a chair next to the bed, Percival settled down, watched and waited.

Three hours passed and then it seemed like the sounds of the others emerging from their rooms seeped into Makarov’s dreams and he suddenly frowned and became restless. That was all the cue Graves needed.  
Bringing him out of the sleep, Percival mumbled the spell and placed a hand on Makarov’s shoulder. “Time to wake up. Easy now. That’s it.”

Makarov seemed even more exhausted after his brief rest, but Percival knew it was a start at least. He let the Russian flee on one of his running sprees and went to find Theseus.  
“You need to watch him,” Percival said, cornering the Englishman in his room. “Makarov. He’s not sleeping. At all. Didn’t you notice?”

A flicker of guilt passed over Theseus’ face. “No, I…” He squirmed a little as he remembered the coffee, the energy potions, the work outs and always going to bed and waking up alone. “He never said…”

“He’s not the type who complains or draws attention to himself,” Percival pointed out. “I’m not blaming you, Theseus, we’re all caught up in our own misery these days, but I need you. He needs you.”

Theseus nodded, shameful, and a there came a tiny crack in the hardness he’d wrapped around his heart.

-

They packed up and left the apartment later that day, heading further north in London and away from the mayhem surrounding the Ministry since the break-in.

On the train, Theseus leaned back and studied the others.   
Since Percy had pointed out that Vasya had been withering in front of his eyes without him noticing, Theseus had realized he’d been so busy raging at what had been done to him that he’d failed to see his friends’ suffering.  
The Dementors, they had taken something from him, torn pieces out of his soul, broken his heart into a mutated thing of burning resentment, but they couldn’t stop him from caring about these people.

Vasya, sitting by his side, looked tired and resigned even in his polyjuice disguise. His grey eyes were staring out the window, but Theseus was willing to bet he didn’t really pay attention to the landscape. He was basically sleepwalking. Speaking when spoken to, but otherwise oh so silent.

Wane, sitting further up in the carriage, was still reading and studying the papers Theseus had found and brought back from the Ministry. A woman passing by him was fascinated by his pretty looks and he beamed a smile up to her, leaving the woman happily flustered and Wane smug. 

The man only known as ‘Scar’ was sitting alone and the furthest away from them all. His face was completely blank and he was petting something in his hand. No one smiled in his direction.

And then there was Percy and Credence, sitting opposite of him. Disguised, like him and Vasya, they still appeared as a handsome man and his younger protégé. Percy had his eyes closed, feigning sleep, but Theseus could almost hear the gears spinning inside his head. The man was miserable and kept himself busy to keep from acknowledging it. Meanwhile, the silent Credence kept sending glances to the man next to him; drawn to Percy and unable to act on it.

Theseus did some planning of his own.

This time they were set up in a house. It was modest, but of a decent standard (According to Theseus, not Percy; who sniffed with disdain.) and Wane told them to claim their rooms and get comfortable. Scar had disappeared on the way from the train station, but Theseus didn’t exactly miss his quiet and unsettling presence. 

After he had unpacked, he left Vasya to finish up with his own unpacking and Theseus went to explore a little. He was surprised to find Credence alone in the living room. “Everything alright?”

Credence glanced over at him with a weak smile, nodding. He looked sad and lonely.

Theseus walked over to him, sighing. “Credence, do you trust me?”

Confused at the question, Credence nodded again.

“Good,” Theseus said, and promptly reached out and pulled him into a hug. He felt the younger man tense up, stop breathing, and he gently stroked a hand over the wild black hair. “One, You’re not alone. Two, don’t let them take this away from you. And, three, I’ve missed you!” 

Credence remained frozen for a little while, but then Theseus felt his hands come to a tentative rest on his back as the younger man returned the embrace. Closing his eyes with relief, Theseus petted his hair again and the hardness around his heart cracked a little more. 

-

Hector Fawley leaned back in his chair and huffed with quiet frustration.

Oh, how he regretted letting Theseus Scamander talk him into allowing Percival Graves and his monster into the Ministry. At the time, the idea of taming the two and rubbing it in the face of the Americans was extremely appealing, but he should have known it would come back to bite him.

Since then it had been a constant battle of appearing like he had full control over the troublesome duo and worrying about what kind of mayhem they’d unleash next.   
Sending them to Azkaban had seemed like the perfect solution, as his Unspeakables had sworn they’d be able to contain the Obscurial, and for a precious amount of time; Hector was able to sleep peacefully at night. He’d felt a sickening sense of relief when he received the news that Percival Graves had died. The American would no longer cause trouble in any manner! Yet there had been the tiniest flicker of… sadness? Guilt? When he was told that Scamander had perished as well.

It wasn’t Hector’s fault. Scamander had chosen to follow Graves and had to pay the price. 

With those two gone and the Unspeakables doing their research, Fawley had made the mistake of thinking the bad times were over. They weren’t. They were just getting started.

There was the break-in, the freeing of the monster, and suddenly there were rumors that Graves and Scamander were indeed alive. They even brought that Russian fellow! And if that was true; it wasn’t hard to deduct who had fetched the Obscurial…

Hector was staring at the letter on his desk, the letter from Seraphina Picquery, informing him that she was arriving in a fortnight; demanding answers about what had happened to her former ally, and he was wondering what he’d done to deserve so much trouble in such a short time when there was a knock on his office door. “Enter,” he called out, putting the letter away.

Leona Silvestri stepped inside. “I have just spoken to my informants. It appears that Newt Scamander has recruited Albus Dumbledore to his search for his brother.”

Closing his eyes briefly, Hector forced himself calm and not act on the frustration building up inside him. That’s all they needed; Albus Dumbledore interfering in their business as well! “We have to find them first, Silvestri.”

Nodding, the blonde woman had every confidence in her own skills. “We found the apartment they used for tunneling into the Ministry. We will trace them to wherever they’ve fled and we’ll deal with them.”

Sighing, Hector stared at the family picture he had propped up on his desk; looking for something to give him strength through these trying times. “Do we know who broke them out of Azkaban?” It sounded absurd when he spoke the words out loud. Nobody escaped from Azkaban!

“We have several suspects,” Leona replied, sliding her gaze over at the picture as well. “My guess would be Wane Bathory. He was observed in the coastal village mere days before the incident.”

“Bathory… So that is the company Theseus Scamander keeps these days,” Hector mumbled, picking up the framed picture. “If people discover what’s happened…”

“We will find them,” Leona stated. She hesitated briefly, knowing the topic of Fawley’s missing son was a sore one, but she had to ask; “Any news on Regis?”

Hector shook his head, putting the picture down on his desk again. He turned his focus back to Leona and away from his son; a handsome young man with eyes as black as his hair. “Percival Graves and his gang must be stopped. Whatever it takes. Permanently and quietly.”

Leona bowed and left the office, going back to hunt for her prey.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's this? Double-smut? Well, there has been a drought so... ;)

When evening fell and they retired for the night, Vasiliy sent a quick glance towards Theseus changing into his pajamas. While the few hours of sleep he’d gotten under Graves’ watch had given him a slight respite, Makarov was back to feeling dangerously tired and he needed either to go running or get a new energy potion. It was if his body had gotten a taste for sleep again and wanted more while his brain rebelled against it.

He knew the second he closed his eyes, he’d feel the creeping cold that warned of the Dementors’ approach. Imaginary or not, he did not know, but it certainly felt real enough, and staying awake had kept them away in Azkaban… He just had to make sure Theseus fell asleep first, he needed his rest, and then he could decide on whether to run or drink.

Theseus slipped under the covers and hummed satisfied when Vasiliy joined him. It gave him a flashback to the time before Azkaban, when Theseus used to make such sounds…

And as if to keep reminding him of the past, Theseus snuggled up close, he hadn’t done that either since Azkaban, and pressed a lingering kiss to Vasiliy’s neck. Makarov frowned a little, not sure what had gotten into the other man. A second kiss was followed by a hand sliding up his chest and Vasiliy cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Seuska…” There was no mistaking that touch and while the idea was tempting, he was terrified that he wouldn’t have the energy to give the other man what he wanted. He felt like a hollowed out version of himself. Constantly tired, yet unable to rest.

“Please,” Theseus murmured, “let me. Ten minutes, if you’re still not feeling it, we call it quits. I promise. All up to you, I won’t get upset.”

While he spoke, Theseus added a little teeth to his kisses and Makarov felt a faint shudder run down into his belly. How was he supposed to say no to that? He nodded. “Okay…”

Sliding on top of him, Theseus actually grinned. “Ten minutes. So, lean back and relax and start counting.”

Vasiliy did as he was told and sunk back to stare up at the ceiling, sighing with a strange combination of nerves and anticipation. He swallowed hard when he felt Theseus start working his way down his stomach and was faintly surprised to feel his body react with glee at the caresses and the kisses. When wet heat engulfed him, it brought him from half hard to straining within moments.

Theseus was in no hurry, despite the time limit, and let the heat build slowly, to Makarov’s delight, and it fueled the growing need. His body still felt heavy and lethargic, except for that one core area, but by the time the ten minutes were up; Vasiliy was breathing hard and struggling to keep still.

That was when Theseus pulled off and looked up at him with a grin. “Want me to stop?”

Makarov groaned, sweaty and tense. “Nyet.” He suddenly remembered that Theseus didn’t speak Russian, but the Brit clearly had no trouble understanding that it as he merrily went down on him again. (The things that mouth could do were probably against some Wizarding laws too!)

It felt good, so very good, but while Vasiliy enjoyed it and wanted it, his body still didn’t quite cooperate. He was wound up, wanting release, getting frustrated, as he just couldn’t reach it. The horrible humiliation of telling Seuska that he couldn’t get there loomed dangerously close…

Suddenly Theseus released him, once again smiling up at him. “Trust me,” Seuska purred, “you’re going to like this.” Before Vasiliy could ask him what he was talking about, Theseus fidgeted with something, took him in his mouth again and now slick fingers slid up uncharted terrain. Well, that was new! And somewhat unexpected, though they had flirted with the idea in the past.

Caught off guard, spinning between too many conflicting sensations at once; between the delicious feeling of Theseus’ mouth on him and the discomfort of his fingers intruding him, Makarov’s mind flailed for the correct reaction when Theseus touched something inside him.

Vasiliy arched off the bed, gasping swear words in Russian, shocked by the lightning jolt of pleasure that went through him from that single touch. He absently heard and felt Seuska hum with smug satisfaction around him, but then Theseus did that thing again and Makarov shattered under it. 

Too much, far too much, and finally just enough! He came so hard his vision turned white.

Shuddering as his senses slowly returned to him, heaving for air, Vasiliy tried to get his act together to return the attention, but Theseus merely cast a clean-up spell, curled up to him and shushed him softly, petting him. “Sleep. We got all the time in the world. I’m here. Don’t worry.”

And this time, despite knowing it was bad manners to leave Seuska unsatisfied, he couldn’t fight it. He felt so tired, he had absolutely no energy left, and his body was ‘finally’ relaxed… Vasiliy was asleep before he could recover his voice and ability to object.

Watching him, holding him close, Theseus felt sated too, despite the heat curling in his gut. He could wait. Watching Vasya sleep was all he needed at that moment.

-

Credence was still awake when Percival finally entered the room. He kept replaying what Theseus had told him.

_-He misses you too, Credence. He blames himself for what happened to you. Show him you don’t blame him. I’m not asking you to jump his bones, just… touch his hand or something,_ he’d said.

Percival moved quietly, so not to disturb Credence who he clearly thought was asleep, and when he finally came to bed; he made sure to keep his distance. 

Credence drew a slow breath, held it, and then squirmed over to face Graves. Predictably, he was lying with his back towards Credence and it was impossible not to notice the tension in those broad shoulders.   
Instinct drove Credence and it was dangerously easy to reach out and gently touch the cropped hair at Percival’s nape. It was as if he touched him with a cattle prod; Graves started violently and spun around to face him, tense and ready for a fight.

Startled as well, Credence stared wide eyed at him, heart hammering in his chest, when he suddenly remembered that Percival was not only wary about anyone grabbing his hair, he also reacted violently to anyone sneaking up on his back. Knowing this came from whatever horrible thing had happened in his past, Credence forced himself to reach out to Percival again; an unspoken apology.

Percival merely watched as Credence’s hand came to a rest against his chest, feeling the rapid heartbeats, and he seemed to go from startled to puzzled and almost hopeful.

Credence felt his heart ache with affection. He really had missed this. He could feel the solid warmth under his palm and it wasn’t scary. Not yet. Right now it felt sturdy and protective.  
Inching closer, strangely nervous, Credence lifted his face up. He was surprised when Percival leaned back, away.

“I…” Percival said, sounding and looking uncertain, “I’m not sure what you want, Credence. I don’t want to take more than you want to give.” Without a voice telling him, how was he to know what was allowed and what wasn’t? As always, in bed; Percival was fanatical about boundaries and he knew how carried away he could get. In the past; they had both enjoyed that, but now…?

Credence considered it, considered what he wanted, and decided to try.   
He moved his hand up to Percival’s shoulder and gave him a gentle push. When the man shifted over to lie on his back, Credence sat up and moved to straddle his thighs, sending him a curious glance.

Percival looked up at him with calm dark eyes and he gave a little nod. “Show me.”

Nodding as well, Credence began by pulling of his night shirt and started opening Graves’ as well. Together, they got Percival’s expensive shirt off him and they were both left in merely their night pants. Credence let his hands slide up the chest he’d never tire of exploring.  
He felt Percival breathe under his touch, felt the warm skin and the coarse hair, and he didn’t have to wonder about what he wanted anymore. He knew. The primal hunger hit him hard.

-

Percival was watching Credence while he was studying him in turn, pleased to see the want back in the dark eyes.  
Not wanting to scare that look away, he made damn sure to keep his hands on the mattress, clutching at the sheets when he felt the urge to reach out. Credence had already flinched away from his touch; Graves did not want to see that again.

While he never minded letting Credence run the show once in a while, Percival found himself tense and almost uncomfortable with having to restrain himself from, well, everything.

When Credence leaned down to kiss him, Percival felt a flicker of relief to have something else to focus on, in addition to the impatience pooling below his waist. The sweet feeling of those lush lips was almost enough to make him forget about the tension.

Credence, still not talking, communicated well enough with his wiggling fingers to make Percival utter the spell needed for him to prepare himself. His feline eyes were now bright with want and Graves was torn between relief to see _his_ Credence still present and an unsettling feeling that things still weren’t right.

Every coherent thought flew out the window when the boy lowered himself onto him.  
It was strange how he’d gone years without feeling the need for physical relief and now Graves found himself mindlessly eager for it. 

When Credence rolled his hips, grinding down on him, Percival dared to place his hands on the slim hips and shuddered hard when he was allowed.

Graves pulled at his hips, Credence obliged and ground down against him again; actually smirking when it made the older man groan.

Oh how he longed to flip them over and fuck the boy into the mattress until the Obscurus howled with delight!

Instead, Percival gritted his teeth, held on and let Credence rediscover that there was nothing to fear from his touch.

It didn’t take long. They were both too eager to draw it out. 

Percival came first, caught by surprise by his own release, but then he quickly reached out, not thinking, and brought Credence with him.

Exhausted and sated, Credence sank forward to lie on top of him, panting softly, and Percival risked drawing light fingertips along his damp spine; an absentminded and affectionate caress.

Credence nuzzled his neck and burrowed closer.  
Things were far from right, but at least things were right between them.

-

Credence woke the next morning with a smile still on his lips. He felt Percival curled up behind him, an arm possessively around him, and it was absolutely perfect.

He opened his mouth to tell him good morning, but no sound could be heard.  
Frowning, Credence tried a couple of times, but still nothing.

A flicker of sadness flittered through him and he slithered out of the embrace and escaped into the shower. He almost hesitated to emerge from the bathroom, knowing Percival would probably expect to hear him speak, but there was no way to avoid it forever…

Stepping into the room, he saw Percival sit up with a sleepy yawn and he waited with a heavy heart to disappoint him… How could he expect Percival to understand his silence when he did not understand it himself? He was safe, he was back with Percival, why had his voice not returned?

Tensing up as Percival approached him, Credence was surprised when Percival merely leaned over to steal a brief kiss before he disappeared into the bathroom as well, humming to himself. No demands, no reproach, just pleased to have him there. 

Credence couldn’t stop smiling, even as he entered the living room and found it empty for everyone except Wane Bathory. 

“Good morning, Credence,” Wane said, sauntering closer. “You seem to be in a good mood!”

Ducking his head a little, Credence shrugged.

“It’s good to see you smile,” Wane declared, smiling a little himself. “I’m glad.”

Credence glanced up at him, wondering if he’d judged the other man too harshly. Maybe Wane was a decent guy? Just because he was gorgeous and would talk with Percival in low, intimate ways; it didn’t automatically make him a bad person.

“I’m actually very honored to meet you,” Wane continued. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He leaned a little closer with an amiable look of conspiracy. “Only good things, of course.”

Credence ducked his head again, flattered and amused. Pretty _and_ funny? Why were there no wizarding laws against that?

“Percival said you were amazing and he wasn’t understating facts.”

Percival said that? Credence straightened slightly and sent Wane a curious look.

Wane’s smile widened. “You want to know what else he said…?”

Of course he did! So when Wane spoke, Credence listened.

“Credence?” Theseus’ voice. “Credence, are you okay?”

Blinking, Credence found himself disoriented and lying on the sofa. He sat up, feeling slightly dizzy and very confused, but otherwise fine. He frowned, trying to remember how he had ended up on the sofa… He remembered leaving the bedroom, then… nothing…

“Credence?” Theseus stepped closer. 

Looking up at the concerned man, Credence put on a smile. No need to worry the others. He’d probably fallen asleep waiting for Percival. Yeah… That was probably it.

-

“That was reckless,” Scar stated, leaning his shoulder against the doorframe to Wane's bedroom. 

“I had it under control” Wane countered, ignoring him to focus on his task.

“It was reckless and you could have been caught. That would have ruined everything.”

Wane smirked. “Relax.” He placed a finger on top of the glass vial in his left hand and turned it on its head for a few seconds before straightening it and daintily placing his fingertip to his lips. He gave it a slow and sensuous lick. 

Scar made a face. “Are you sure you’re not a vampire?” Watching the man licking at blood he’d stolen from Credence Barebone was just plain creepy.

“You have seen me out in daylight on several occasions,” Wane replied, eyes closed in one blissful second at the taste. He then corked the vial and carried it over to his bag. “What do you want, Scar?”

“This was delivered by owl,” Scar held out a piece of paper towards him. “It’s from _him_.”

Wane frowned confused, closing his bag and moving over to grab the paper. He read it and frowned even deeper. “That’s… one of the Unspeakables, right?”

Scar didn’t reply, not bothering when they both knew it was a fact, not a question.

“Does he expect us to run around and help these people kill Unspeakables?” Wane was starting to sound more than a little annoyed. “I really don’t get the way Grindelwald's mind works at times…!”

“Whatever he wants,” Scar shrugged, “we do. He’s the boss, remember?”

Grumbling, Wane sent his bag a longing look. “He already gave me a mission. Remember?”

“Then you’re just going to have to multi-task, aren’t you?”

Wane turned to glare at Scar. “I’m overwhelmed by your helpfulness.” He licked at his finger again. “Fine. I’m going to need time to work with what I got today anyway. Might be a good idea to be around if I need more… material.”

“Have fun.” Scar straightened. “I have to leave. Got some babies that need some checking.” He didn’t wait for Wane to respond, merely walked out of the room and out of the apartment.

Bathory savored the taste of Obscurial blood, the promise of power in that blood, as he gazed at the piece of paper with the Unspeakables name again. Maybe a little slaughter was exactly what he needed?

-

Two days later, a man was stumbling through the desolate streets they had cut off from the world and Theseus was trembling with barely restrained tension. He kept clenching and unclenching his hands, his eyes locked on the Unspeakable, waiting for him to wander into his reach.

Makarov was watching too, crouched on top of one of the buildings, his face an expressionless mask.

The second the Unspeakable turned and started walking down the alley where Theseus was waiting, the once famous war-hero smiled and it wasn’t the kind smile he’d been equally famous for. 

He stepped out of the shadows and trembled again, this time with excitement, as the Unspeakable instantly pulled out his wand and got into a battle stance. “Scamander! I’m warning you…!”

Theseus exhaled a laugh, felt his muscles tense up and he charged abruptly. Spells flew by him, one even brushed by his shoulder, but his anger gave him speed and the Unspeakable was already tired from Vasya playing with him.

A quick dodge under a lightning spell and Theseus was finally close enough to lash out. He felt the satisfying jolt of his fist connecting with the man’s face.

- _Don’t kill him_ , Graves had ordered. – _He’s not yours to kill._

It was difficult, but Theseus had to settle for drawing blood and a lot of pain as he slowly maneuvered the man to flee back the way he came and then south.   
South, where death was waiting for him.

Breathing hard, Theseus watched as the Unspeakable fled south, clenching and unclenching his hands again, feeling the bruises on his knuckles and the urge to chase his prey. He didn’t turn as Vasya suddenly stepped up next to him, watching the Unspeakable as well.

Neither spoke or moved as the shadows to the south came alive. The Unspeakable came to a sudden halt when Percival Graves stepped out from them.

Exhausted and in pain, the Unspeakable seemed unable to decide whether to lift his wand or lower it. Eventually, as Graves came to a halt in front of him, the man lowered his wand. “Please, don’t…”

Percival watched him with dark eyes, devoid of pity or compassion. “I’m betting he said that as well…”

“What…?” The Unspeakable sounded confused. “I don’t understand… Who are you talking about…?”

“Credence Barebone, the Obscurial,” Percival said, a picture of expensive elegance and indifference. “The boy you and your fellow Unspeakables cut and tortured. Remember him?”

“We had orders!” The Unspeakable lifted his wand again. “And he’s an Obscurial! He’s not supposed to exist! It was our duty to discover the secret behind his powers! Are you going to kill me for doing what needed to be done for the benefit of all wizardkind?”

Percival gave a tiny, benign smile and shook his head gently. “Oh no.” He didn’t move, but the darkness behind him did. “No, I’m not going to kill you.” The smile vanished. “He is.”

The Obscurus roared as it flew towards the Unspeakable, making Graves’ coat and scarf flap in the wind, and then there was screaming.

Theseus savored every second. His only regret was that he didn’t get to hurt him more.

One down, plenty more to go.

-

Albus Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I understand you don’t want to believe it, Newt, but I fear you may have to and soon. Three Unspeakables dead in two weeks. All powerful wizards, yet defeated, kidnapped and murdered by an Obscurus. Your brother was even observed at the scene of one of the kidnappings!”

Newt shook his head. “No.” He stared at the desk. “No, Theseus wouldn’t do something like this. A-and even if he did, it would be because he has no other choice.”

Sighing again, Albus knew too well how Gellert could persuade people to do things they’d never seen themselves doing. 

“You mentioned a name earlier,” Newt said. “The one who broke them out of Azkaban?”

“Wane Bathory,” Dumbledore replied, grateful to his contacts inside the Ministry for the information. “Your brother is keeping bad company.”

“I don’t think I’ve heard the name before?”

“The Bathorys are an old wizarding family from Hungary,” Albus explained. “They practiced the Dark Arts and were shunned for it. Rumors said they specialized in blood magic.” He shook his head a little. “I met Wane’s grandmother once, briefly, didn’t talk to her though, but I wouldn’t have thought her a day over thirty years, even though she had to be about ninety at the time.”

Frowning, Newt got up and began to pace. “Why would someone like that break Theseus out of Azkaban?”

“I think Grindelwald’s target was Percival Graves and Credence Barebone. Your brother was a bonus.”

“We have to save him,” Newt blurted out.

Albus made a thoughtful sound. “We’ll keep looking. I will keep talking to my contacts.” He hesitated. “Newt, have you thought about what you’re going to do if he doesn’t want to be saved?”

Scoffing, Newt stopped to send him an incredulous glance. “Of course he wants to be saved!”

Dumbledore did not share his certainty, and if his fears proved to be real; then what? Would Newt be able to fight his own brother? Would he be able to defeat him? Send him back to Azkaban? Or kill him?

Only time would tell…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you feel like listening to what to expect in the next chapters in the form of music; https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l2S4GTD-AAw


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben keeps causing trouble and the final mission doesn't turn out how they planned it...

_”You know they are going to die, right?”_ Ben stated with quiet glee. _Every single one._

Percival Graves drew a tense breath. Whenever they were out on a hunt, picking off one Unspeakable after another, he was focused and relaxed, but between that; Ben would whisper without mercy and had even started to appear in his dreams…

Percival decided to train the others in duels. Theseus was strong and talented, but Graves noted his impatience made him sloppy. He quickly pointed it out and savored the offended look on his face. Credence had the Obscurus and was on a whole different level, both when it came to strength and how he fought, and Graves didn’t train it as much as he ogled it.

Of the three, Makarov was the weakest link. He was an experienced soldier who knew how to fight, but his spells were not as strong as Graves’ or Theseus’ and he had no Obscurus to fall back on. Makarov _had_ proven again and again that he could hold his own in battle, but Percival still wanted him stronger. No one on his team was going to die. No one! Including that stubborn idiot.

During the first week of training, when Graves launched attacks; Makarov either deflected or blocked them, but the Russian wasn’t really putting any effort into it, so it was time to up the ante.

Makarov grunted with pain when the lightning spell Percival slammed at him broke through his shield, making Theseus and Credence both straighten with a startled look, but Graves didn’t hesitate before doing it again. He went from holding back to inflicting pain and doing his best to provoke.

The Russian upped his defense, but that only made Percival increase the strength of his attacks and tension was suddenly running high. It wasn’t sparring anymore, it was turning into a dog fight. And finally Graves could push Makarov’s limits for real.  
He kept hitting the other man with spells strong enough to break through his defenses, powerful enough to really hurt, not enough to incapacitate; yet more than enough to piss him off.

Theseus and Credence both tensed up as things got scrappy. Percival, however, was smugly satisfied to feel the Russian’s spells grow stronger the angrier he got. He’d suspected Makarov’s laid back nature made him put less passion into his attacks and it made him weaker.

Graves backed up a couple of steps as Makarov sent a barrage of spells at him, making his barrier tremble slightly, and it was such a huge difference to his usual lukewarm attacks that it distracted him from seeing the physical attack.

Suddenly he had Makarov’s hand around his throat, his back against the wall, and one angry Russian pointing his wand at the side of his neck in the threatening gesture. Percival grinned with proud approval. “Nice.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Almost good enough.” And just as Makarov realized he had Graves’ left hand against his stomach, Percival used a wandless spell to send him flying through the air and crash-land hard with a sharp yelp.

Makarov, struggling to get up on his feet and coughing with pain, seemed surprised at Percival Graves walking over to offer him a helping hand. “Much better. That’s the kind of power I want to see in your attacks from now on. Okay?”

Hesitating, Makarov eventually reached out and accepted his hand, letting him pull him up on his feet. He was staring at Percival with a mixture of confusion and understanding, and it lasted long after Graves had disappeared inside the building and Theseus checking him to see if he was hurt.

-  
Whenever they were out on a hunt for the Unspeakables, Theseus felt focused and calm, but now two weeks had passed without them getting a single name and he could feel the pressure building up inside him. 

He tried to be good, he really did! He made sure Vasya slept, did his best to make Credence smile in hopes that it might lure his voice back one day, but watching Percy grow strangely nervous and distant as time passed; that made the pressure increase.

One early morning, he lingered behind while Vasya, Credence and Wane headed out to do some shopping. Percy had quickly declined to join them, pale and tense, and it made Theseus uneasy.  
He found him in the living room, looking out the window to watch the others as they left, and Theseus slinked closer to the other man. “Percy?” He frowned a little at how wound up he appeared. “Talk to me. What’s bothering you, and don’t insult my intelligence by saying it’s nothing.”

Giving a wry smile, Percival glanced over at him. “That obvious, huh?” He then sighed. “It started in Azkaban… That place brings all your worst nightmares to life, you know that, so it makes sense I’d start hearing Ben. It’s just… Since we left that place, he hasn’t stopped. I know he’s not real, I _know_ it’s just in my head, and still… He won’t shut up! He won’t leave me alone!”

Hearing the resignation and quiet agony in Percy’s voice, it broke Theseus’ heart. He pulled him into a hug and was surprised to feel Percy’s arms going around him without hesitation; holding on to him so hard Theseus’ ribs hurt. Percy even hid his face against Theseus’ neck, letting out a shivering breath while a faint tremor went through his entire body.

Theseus lifted a hand to gently caress Percy’s neck, just below his cropped nape, holding the other arm around him in a secure grip. He made damn sure to keep his blind rage contained. “I’m sorry,” he whispered instead. “I’m really sorry Fawley sent you there and brought him back into your life.”

Percy allowed himself a few more moments before he straightened, releasing his grip, but didn’t pull fully away when Theseus refused to let him go. “I’m going to be fine, Theseus. It’s just… I’d rather just not think about… that. And his voice keeps reminding me.”

Nodding, Theseus kept one arm around him and used the other hand to cup his face. “I can understand that.” He let his thumb brush over his cheek; feeling the stubbles there. “Does Credence know?”

Now that made Percy back up and break free from the embrace. “No.” He sent him a harsh stare. “And you are not going to tell him either. He’s got more than enough to deal with after what they did to him at the Ministry. He needs to believe in me, okay?” Percy shook his head fiercely when Theseus tried to object, taking another step away. “No. You do NOT get to tell him. Not anyone! Promise me!”

Theseus wanted to object more, wanted to tell him that Credence wouldn’t think less of him if he knew about his past, that maybe he and Credence could help each other through these days, that keeping it a secret would only make it worse, but Percy had already shut down and it would be pointless. Resigning, Theseus nodded with a heavy heart. “I promise.”

-

Knowing Percy’s secret, seeing him grow pale and distressed at random intervals and knowing why, without being able to tell anyone or do anything about it (Other than sneak a hug or give an encouraging word), Theseus felt his anger grow beyond what he could control.

They still hadn’t received any new names so Vasya spent most of his days training (and was happily molested by him at night), Credence was training his wand-magic as well, under Percy’s watchful eye, while Wane was busy concocting some new potion (That looked eerily blood-like!) and Scar was gone most of the time; which meant Theseus’ fury kept building up without a release.  
He grew restless and twitchy and the need to do… something kept growing until it became unbearable!

It wasn’t difficult to sneak away. Everybody trusted him, everybody knew reliable Theseus didn’t do anything stupid, so he left without anybody noticing and didn’t look back.

It took him three days. Three days to travel to the Ministry, break in, again, leave and to apparate southwards until he arrived in France. There he used the item he’d stolen.

As Theseus spun the TimeTurner, he thought about how he’d be going back to the worst years of his life and yet it didn’t frighten him at all. Compared to Azkaban and the Dementors, this would be nothing.   
He’d never traveled in time before and when he opened his eyes to find himself in the middle of a ravaged battlefield, Theseus swore he’d never do it again. He felt like he’d been wrung inside out, dizzy and confused, but his inner anger allowed him to focus and remember why he was there.  
So, amidst gun fire and dragon fire, he began to move. His time there was limited.

Theseus eventually found what he was looking for; a rifle with half a decent scope. He picked it from the hands of a fallen soldier and trotted towards where Percy had ended up after he and Theseus had been separated all those years ago. He got into position, watched and waited.

He’d seen his face in that warehouse, when that Boggart took on the shape of Percy’s worst fear, and now Theseus was just waiting to see that face in his scope.

Eventually, a lone soldier came crawling in the trench and Theseus felt a jolt of excitement. He focused on the face and despite the mud it wasn’t hard to recognize the handsome features of Benjamin Roberts. The demon himself. The one responsible for hurting Percy until he shattered.

Theseus hoisted the rifle slightly, aimed, breathed, put all his hatred in his act and fired, striking his target in the neck, seconds before the stray bullet which originally took his life hit Roberts’ chest.

It didn’t really change anything, Theseus knew better than to mess with time, Ben Roberts would have died anyways. Yet, it felt DAMN good to see that blood erupt from his neck and the fear in his eyes as he realized he was going to die. It was only a shame that he didn’t suffer more…

Putting his rifle down, Theseus exhaled, feeling his anger ease a little at the sight of the dying man. “That was for Percival Graves, you monster.” 

It didn’t occur to him until much later, when he returned to the others, that he’d acted like a complete tosspot.

-

Vasiliy was furious. He was angrier than he’d even been before.

He’d spent the last days losing his mind, terrified of what had happened to Theseus after the man had merely disappeared, leaving behind a note that said; ‘I will be back in a couple of days. Don’t worry.’ and then, just as sudden; he reappeared like nothing was wrong.

Theseus was exhausted, almost depleted of magic and covered in mud for some reason, but alive and well. And refused to explain why he’d disappeared or where he’d gone.

Vasiliy was seriously considering murdering him.

To his relief, Graves was just as angry as he was, making Credence the only one who didn’t greet the Englishman with disbelief and fury. For once, he and Graves were in complete agreement.

“I’m sorry!” Theseus repeated for the ninth time, following Makarov as he stalked to their room. “I’m really sorry!”

Spinning around to face him, Vasiliy glared. “Then tell me. Where did you go? Why?”

“I can’t,” Theseus almost whined. “I made a promise not to tell. It’s not my secret to tell! Vasya, please…”

“There was a report of break in at Ministry. Was that you?”

Theseus sighed. “Yes.”

Vasiliy spun on his heel and marched over to his duffle bag, muttering in Russian about how big of an idiot he was . He paused with his hand on the bag. “You scared me. Disappearing. I thought you were dead.” Seuska was the only reason why he’d come back and why he was fighting this fight, but suddenly going home to Russia seemed like a damn good idea!

“I’m sorry!” There was a tone of desperation to Theseus’ voice now.

Shaking his head, Vasiliy realized that this was one thing he couldn’t accept. “You do not trust me. You disappear. No trust.” He frowned. “Give one reason for me to stay.”

Theseus moved over, wrapping his arms around Vasiliy’s waist and resting his cheek on his shoulder , speaking in a soft and sincere voice; “Because I love you.”

Vasiliy closed his eyes. That wasn’t fair. He’d been desperate to hear those words. “Do not say if… not mean it…” He knew too well Seuska’s undying devotion to Percival Graves.

“I said it and I mean it,” Theseus said. “I love you, Vasiliy Makarov. Please don’t leave me…”

Still angry and hurt, Vasiliy lifted a hand to cover one of Theseus’. “Never disappear like that again.”

“I promise,” Theseus squeezed him tight, voice filled with relief. “Never again. You can trust me on that. Thank you. And I truly am sorry, Vasya.”  
He chose to trust him.

The next day, just as Theseus had almost groveled his way into Percival Graves’ good graces again too, they got the name of an Unspeakable.

-

Looking at where the Unspeakable’s location on a map, knowing the surroundings, Graves had an idea. He waved a hand, gesturing him closer. “Vasiliy, come here.”

Makarov, Theseus and Credence all exchanged a confused look, (Since when did Graves use Makarov’s actual name?) but he slowly inched towards Percival. Wary, Vasiliy sent him a narrow look. “What?”

Percival pointed at the map. “See this? The guy is hiding by the family farm. That’s our way in!”

Clearly realizing what he was aiming at, Makarov shook his head. “Forget it.”

“We get a cart and we can smuggle Theseus and Credence in too!” Graves continued.

“I am not pulling a cart,” Makarov stated, crossing his arms defiantly.

“What is the point of having a horse on the team if he won’t contribute,” Percival sent him a dry look.

The Russian shook his head again, clearly not convinced, but then Theseus stepped forward with a confused frown.  
“A horse on the team? What are you talking about? Scar’s horse? Isn’t that a little small to be pulling carts?”

Percival grinned widely. “Vasiliy here happens to have a horse animagus-form!”

Theseus blinked surprised; “You’re an Animagus? You never told me that.”

Gritting his teeth as he sent Graves a brief death-glare, Makarov turned his attention back to Theseus. “I just… You never asked! It was never topic.”

“You didn’t register,” Theseus pointed out.

“I am aware,” Makarov managed to grate out, hating the echo of Graves’ words in Theseus’ mouth.

“He shape-changed to carry your spell-stunned ass through the underground tunnel,” Graves added, overly helpful and eager to make things difficult for them as vengeance for Theseus refusing to tell him where he’d gone and what he’d done.

“You, shut up!” Makarov hissed at Graves before focusing on Theseus again. “I do not use it much. Just emergency. Almost like secret weapon, yes?”

“Our secret weapon.” Percival shot in.

“That is not…!” Vasiliy fumed, angry enough to struggle with his English. “Fuck…!”

“You?” Percival asked innocently.

“Yes!” 

Putting on a dangerous smirk, eyeing the Russian from top to toe, Percival made a thoughtful sound. “Maybe I will, one day.” He then used the stunned silence to point at the map again, back to business. “Now, if we get through this gate with the cart, we can…”

Makarov was roughly the color of a tomato, Theseus looked like he didn’t know whether to cheer or worry that he was hallucinating, while Credence’s eyebrows were somewhere up by his hairline. 

Clearly the prospect of carnage was doing wonders to Percival’s mood.

-

Grindelwald smiled slightly as he stepped closer to where Wane Bathory was studying his final experiment with the Obscurial’s blood. “I heard they managed to sneak in on the farm, snuff that tricky Unspeakable and leave without being detected.”

“Why are you here?” Wane asked, not taking his eyes off his experiment.

Sending a quick glance over at where Scar was slouching, Grindelwald made a thoughtful sound. “I came for an update. How are you coming along with that blood, Wane? Any luck?”

Wane shrugged. “There is progress. Might need a little more work, but I have complete faith in success.”

“And you?” Grindelwald turned back to Scar. “What is your verdict? Can the Obscurus be tamed?”

Scar’s face and voice was as expressionless and flat as usual. “Of course, with the right incentive.”

“But can I trust it not to betray me? Would it be easier to control without the others?”

“The Obscurus is bound to its human host. It’s in the human nature to betray.” Scar shook his head a little. “They are a pack. You control one through the other, but with their level of intelligence; it’s going to be high maintenance. Separate the Obscurus from its pack, I think it will become unstable.”

Grindelwald eyed Scar a little longer, digesting the words and remembering when he’d recruited the man. Once known as Regis Fawley, the son of the head of the British Ministry; his talent and affection for the magical beasts had made him an outsider since his childhood.

At Hogwarts, the other students had tormented him ceaselessly. He barely graduated. Afterwards his father wanted him to join him in the political ranks, but the younger man had other plans. He dedicated himself to fighting for the dark beasts; misunderstood, angry and unwanted; just like him. 

(Later, Scar heard about another student at Hogswart who got expelled for defending magical beasts. It confirmed his belief that the wizarding world was as cruel and rigid as ever.)

Every other person who dared to work with the unpredictable animals either died or was left with countless scars, yet Regis remained untouched. People began spreading unfounded rumors about him exploiting the Dark Arts to sway the creatures to his will. Grindelwald whispered in his ear and it wasn’t hard to make him act on the grudge he carried towards the wizarding world. –Become _their_ scar, Grindelwald said, and so Regis died and Scar was born.

“Whatever the outcome, they have been a marvelous distraction,” Grindelwald declared. “The Elder Wand is mine, I’ve been able to recruit factions in Spain and France, while Fawley and his minions have been wonderfully distracted by the attacks on his Unspeakables.” He reached out and petted Wane’s shoulder. “If they can pull off this final mission and get me that orb back, the one they cost me in Brussels, we’ll be ahead of schedule! But, uh, I’d stock up on that blood if I were you, Bathory. I have a feeling that some, if not all of them, won’t be coming back after this one.”

-

Credence woke up feeling utterly exhausted. He couldn’t even remember going to bed, but he must have as he woke up in it! His body felt heavy and sluggish. It was a battle to simply get up on his feet!

Shuffling into the living room, he found the others there. Percival was talking about their next plan, eager and blood thirsty as it was the highest ranking Unspeakable and the one who’d called the shots for Credence’s bad treatment. Makarov and Scar was looking at a map, and Theseus was lazing about on the sofa.

His instincts were telling him that something was wrong, that there was something he’d forgotten and needed to remember, something important, but Credence was just too tired.

“Sleeping beauty awakens!” Theseus declared as Credence approached. He blinked surprised when the younger man merely got on the sofa as well and crawled up to slump more or less on top of him. “Or not?” He placed a tentative hand on Credence’s back, stroking him carefully.

While not as wary as he’d been after his rescue, Credence had still been withdrawn compared to his old behavior and this was the first time he’d sought out comfort from anyone but Percival.

“You okay?” Theseus asked.

Credence didn’t know how to answer that. He felt, in his bones, that something was wrong, but he did not know what. And how did you explain that without a voice? He burrowed closer to Theseus instead, hoping his solid warmth could chase away the unease and the cold under his skin.  
He could almost feel Theseus and Percival exchange thoughtful looks, but didn’t have the energy to care.

By the time the talking had boiled down to a real plan and strategy, Percival hesitated to include Credence. “Maybe you should stay behind this time?” He shook his head at the hurt look Credence sent him. “You’re clearly not feeling well. No need to risk getting hurt. We got this.”

Credence knew the others would have no problem taking down the Unspeakable, he knew he could trust them to hunt him down and kill him, but he was the one who had been hurt at the hands of this wizard; Credence owed him some serious payback!

Even without a voice, Percival clearly knew Credence’s expressions well enough to merely sigh resigned. “Fine. But you’re back-up until we got him under control. It’s that, or you stay behind.”

It wasn’t ideal, but it was better than not being allowed to join the mission. (He had no doubt that Percival would find some way to restrain him if he believed Credence could risk getting hurt, and he had no extra energy to fight him.)

Once they arrived at the desolate plaza where the Unspeakable would cross that day, Credence sensed even stronger how something was clearly wrong. Wane and Scar both had declined to join them, claiming they were busy, but there had been something in Wane’s eyes that bothered Credence… He had no idea why, but his instincts were screaming; danger!

He was fighting against the urge to call off the entire plan when there was movement and he heard Makarov mutter a name in surprise; “Silvestri?”

The blonde woman came marching in front of the person whom was supposed to have been their Unspeakable but turned out to be someone very different. Someone who made Percival Graves turn pale and whisper her name; “Seraphina…”

“Theseus!” A voice called out, and the four turned to see Newt Scamander and a dark haired man stand behind them. “Theseus, you’re alive!”

Credence drew a shivering breath, noting the relief on Newt’s face, the surprised unease in Seraphina’s facial expression, as well as the cold anger simmering from Leona Silvestri’s form. He saw Percival hesitate, Theseus staring at his brother and Makarov’s defensive pose, and he knew… 

This was going to end badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, a word of warning as we are approaching the end here. I'm guessing one more chapter and a small epilogue!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight, an unlikely hero, a surprise reveal and Russia!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait! Unfortunately my health took a bad knock and it has taken me some time to get back up to writing again. It was a bittersweet feeling to know I was writing the final chapter of this story as chapter 9 is mostly an epilogue. This chapter is a loooong one...  
> (That being said, for the ones who rooted for and/or felt cheated of an orgy; be on the look-out for a bonus installation in the future! ;) )

“Newt… Newt, what are you doing here?” Theseus backed away from him.

Vasiliy fought against the urge to step up next to him, offer his silent support, choosing instead to remain where he was so he could keep an eye on all present there. His trust reached no further than the three people next to him, no matter who these newcomers were. Best to be ready!  
“I’ve been looking for you!” The one called Newt, his younger brother Vasiliy remembered, explained eagerly. “I knew you were alive! I knew it!” He exhaled a relieved laugh. “I know everything has been a great big misunderstanding and…”

While the younger Scamander rambled on, the American woman gave a slight nod towards Percival. “Mr. Graves.” She seemed tense, but her face was impossible to read.

“President,” Percival replied, carefully neutral. The two were locked on each other, neither acknowledging the young man by Graves’ side or how there were flickers of black smoke emerging from him like an ominous warning.

The only unknown factor to Vasiliy was the dark haired man by Newt Scamander. Luckily the man seemed content to linger in the background and merely watch as well. For now.

“Newt, go home!” Theseus snapped anxiously. “This doesn’t concern you!”

“Of course it concerns me!” Newt scoffed. “You’re my brother! You’re in trouble and that makes it my problem. I’ll help you explain to the Ministry…”

“No!” Theseus yelled, clearly unsettled now. “Dammit, Newt, I’m NOT going back there! GO HOME!”

Makarov saw movement in the corner of his eye and quickly flicked out his wand, aiming it at the Silvestri-woman who had discretely pulled out her own wand to take advantage of the confusion. “Bad idea.”

Everyone except Credence drew their wands, eyeing each other warily.

“Go. Home.” Theseus ground out a final time to his brother, leaning more towards anger than confusion now. “I’m not going back. I DON’T need your help. Bugger off home, Newt!”

“I’m not leaving you!” Newt declared every bit as stubborn as him, standing firm and keeping his wand ready. 

Percival Graves tightened his grip on his wand, not taking his eyes off the American woman. “You know we won’t go quietly.”

“And you know I can’t let you go,” Seraphina countered in her smooth voice.

She moved, that was all, but it was all it took. The Obscurus came roaring to life, exploding into existence as a black creature from a child’s nightmare, and chaos followed.

Vasiliy saw Silvestri flick a spell towards Theseus and quickly got between them to prevent her from attacking him again. If she wanted someone to fight, Vasya was more than happy to indulge her. 

“You should have stayed in Russia,” Silvestri growled, wand ready. “I’ve studied all about you, Captain Makarov. I know all your strategies and your little tricks.”

Vasiliy smiled. “Good.” He rolled his shoulders a little, preparing for battle. The woman didn’t know that the person she had studied was no more. Captain Makarov was gone and Vasiliy had a brand new way of fighting, in addition to being far stronger; much thanks to Percival Graves’ harsh tutorage. “Let’s go.” She would learn soon enough and suffer the consequences.

-

Theseus dodged the spell coming his way, his nerves shot to hell already and anger quickly clouded his mind. This had all been a trap, set by the Ministry, aiming to send them back to Azkaban!  
“I’m not going back,” Theseus whispered, overcome by the memories of Azkaban and the horrors there. “Never. I’d rather die.” He turned to face Newt again, feeling his fear soothed by liquid rage in his veins. “I’m warning you…” 

The younger Scamander shook his head a little with despair. “Theseus, what…?” He moved forward, but froze when Theseus lifted his wand in a threatening manner. “This is madness, Theseus! I’m your brother, remember? I’m here to help you!”

“You’re here to take me back to the Ministry, right?”

“Well, yes, but…” Newt never got to finish the sentence as Theseus attacked.

A distant part of his mind screamed at the notion of trying to hurt the younger brother he’d spent a big part of his life protecting, but it was drowned amidst the anger and fear of going back to that place. All Theseus knew was that he would rather die than go back and Newt had just admitted that he was there to send him to Azkaban.

“Theseus, please!” Newt yelped, barely dodging a spell. “Stop!”

But Theseus didn’t stop. He merely kept launching attack after attack.

The second the Obscurus had appeared, it had launched itself directly at Seraphina Piquery and it was Albus Dumbledore’s quick reaction that saved her life. He’d apparated by her side and kept the blackness at bay with a barrier spell, now trembling under the strain, and could therefore only watch as Theseus attacked his own brother.

It was fifty percent luck and fifty percent skill that allowed Newt to escape most of the attacks. He did his very best to block and dodge, but made no effort to fight back. “Theseus!”

Hearing him call his name, it grated on Theseus’ nerves and his anger flared even worse. Did he really think this was easy for him? Didn’t he realize that he’d given Theseus no choice when he’d appeared to drag him back to Azkaban?

“Shut up!” Theseus yelled, hitting him with a painful fire spell. “You can’t make me go back!”  
He had no choice. 

-

Percival quickly realized he’d grown dangerously accustomed to fighting wizards far below his own level as Seraphina’s first attack nearly sent him to his knees.  
It was a harsh reminder of why she was the leader of the MACUSA. Her powers were formidable, more powerful than any other person he’d faced, and a couple of years ago she might even have been capable of defeating Percival Graves on that merit alone. Unfortunately for her, things had changed.

Percival had grown stronger, yes, but more importantly; he was no longer restrained by rules, regrets or pesky morals. He wanted something and Seraphina was in his way. His will would not be bowed.

Not holding back, it became a painful dance of Seraphina driving Percival one step back and him forcing her back two. While his body was eventually aching under the strain, he could tell the President was feeling the same from the tightness around her eyes. She was starting to fear this was one fight she couldn’t win. She was right. 

He absently noted the furious roar from the Obscurus, kept at bay by Albus Dumbledore who continued flinging up barriers while apparating around and prodding it with spells to keep it focused on him like some matador. Theseus and Newt were almost struck by the falling debris when the darkness demolished a house next to them while swatting after Dumbledore, but the two brothers were too focused on their own fight to really react beyond dodging. In the background, Silvestri’s screams due to Makarov’s piercing attacks sounded good to Graves’ ears as he sought to make the President utter the same.

Graves went for destruction, Makarov aimed for pain, Theseus intended to kill and the Obscurus no longer resembled a swirling cloud of doom but rather something made out of teeth and claws. 

The fight clearly took too long. While they had the upper hand, Percival was dismayed to see Aurors apparating into the action. The Obscurus took care of several wizards with a single charge before Dumbledore got its attention again, but it was time to finish things permanently and get out of there! Gritting his teeth, Graves gathered all his strength into his attack and lashed out.

Seraphina tried to block it, but her barrier shattered under the spell and she was flung backwards, landing hard and her wand flew out of her hand. This was it, Percival stalked forward, blood boiling in his veins with the urge to deliver the final killing strike; this was his chance! He charged his wand and lifted his arm as he stalked closer, sneering with contempt as he swung it down, only to have the spell bounce off a barrier that shattered as a result; compliments of a shadow diving forward to protect Seraphina.

Blinking surprised, Percival didn’t move, struggling to believe what he was seeing; pushed back into a sitting position after his barrier spell had been broken, a terrified Abernathy was staring up at him. The man was trembling with fear, pale as a ghost and clutching desperately at his wand. He knew he did not stand a chance against Percival Graves, it had been a suicide move, a stupid move, a pointless move as it would only get himself killed along with the President, yet…

It was brave. The kind of bravery only brought forth when you face something so horrible that it leaves you no option.  
Graves saw in Abernathy’s eyes the fear he’d seen in Aurors’ eyes when they faced horrors.

Slowly lowering his wand, Percival Graves looked around himself. He saw a blood-spattered Makarov paralyze two Aurors and hitting them with a lightning spell to make them scream. He saw the Obscurus, all sharp edges and fury, lash out and severing an Auror’s arm after he’d dared to shoot a spell at it. He saw Theseus standing over a kneeling Newt, the younger brother desperately trying to direct his wand away by a grip on his wrist, but Theseus had his other hand tightly around his throat.

Seeing this, Percival saw what Abernathy saw; monsters.

-

Turning to Makarov, Percival called out. “Vasiliy, stop!”

Mid-casting, Makarov froze in a Pavlovian reaction to an order, looking over at him.

“Credence!” Graves yelled towards the black mass. “Stop! Enough!” As the Obscurus came to a reluctant and snarling halt, he turned towards the final member of his group. “Theseus! Theseus, you too! Stop!”

The elder Scamander brother showed no signs of relenting with a look of pure rage on his face. “I’m not going back!” He even seemed to tighten his grip further, making Newt abandon his attempt to divert the wand and use both hands in a futile effort to free himself. 

“Theseus!” Graves yelled, and when that didn’t help; he flicked a spell at him. “ENOUGH!”

Hit by the spell in the shoulder, Theseus stumbled and blinked, as if a fog lifted from his eyes, and suddenly he saw Newt frantically clawing at the grip around his throat, choking, and his eyes widened with horror. He released Newt as if touching him burned his hand. Theseus then took a step away, gulping for air and shaking his head. “I can’t go back,” Theseus whispered, broken. “I can’t…”

Newt slumped to the ground, still clutching his throat and coughing for air.

Movement caught Percival’s attention and he glanced over to find that Seraphina had managed to sit up and had summoned her wand back into her hand, and she was watching him warily.  
“This isn’t what I wanted to become,” Percival whispered. “This isn’t what we are.”

Gently pushing Abernathy aside, Seraphina made no attempt to get up. She kept a watchful eye on Graves, but it seemed like everyone was caught up in the strange truce. “I don’t know who you are anymore, Mr. Graves.”

Percival gave a bitter smile. “You never knew who I was, Seraphina.”

Seraphina frowned. “You were my friend.”  
Graves shook his head, “You didn’t know me. At all. I did the work, was an obedient soldier, and good at my job, but you had no idea who I was. Not really. Grindelwald could have replaced me, and you wouldn’t have known.”

“I would have known!” She insisted with her usual stubbornness. “But I will never understand why you decided to throw everything away for Gellert Grindelwald.”

“No…” Percival sighed. “No, I don’t suppose you will.” He cast a final glance at his companions again; Theseus, unable to look at his brother, Makarov, aching to start up the fight again, and beloved Credence in his beautiful survivor shape. They were his and he had to protect them.  
“Let them go and you can have me. I’ll plead guilty, I won’t deny anything, but let them go.”

-

It was hard to tell who was more shocked by Percival’s statement; Seraphina and her henchmen or Graves’ own crew.

“You know what that means,” Seraphina said, as if he wasn’t aware of the death penalty he’d handed out himself to others for lesser crimes.

“Just let them go and you can even make it a public event,” Percival continued. “This is entirely my fault. I was the one who got tricked by Grindelwald. I failed to see Credence’s powers. I came to London and wrecked Theseus’ life. I allowed Vasiliy to get dragged into this chaos. It’s all on me.”

“That’s not true. Percy didn’t do this to us…” Theseus said. He looked at Seraphina, the Aurors, everyone there from the Ministry, in turn. “You did. This is all your doing. We were on your side and you turned on us for no reason. You broke us and you gave us no choice. This is _your_ fault.”

Percival lifted a hand, signaling him to be quiet. “It doesn’t matter. I’m willing to carry the guilt. You get your scapegoat and restore the MACUSA’s reputation, President, and these three go free. Everybody wins.”

Seraphina seemed to consider it but a voice suddenly called out.

“No!” Out of the darkness, Credence materialized and rushed over to Graves while the Obscurus dissolved in his wake. “NO!” He grabbed a hold of the lapels on Percival’s jacket, staring up at him. “I won’t let you. I won’t let her! No!”

Amazed at finally hearing his voice again, Percival couldn’t help a faint smile as he touched the beautiful face. “It’s okay. You go with Theseus and Vasiliy. They’ll look after you.” 

“NO!” Credence screamed, black flames roaring up from him. (There was a light thud as the terrified Abernathy passed out and slumped to the ground.)

“We were on your side when you people suddenly named us as your enemy,” Makarov confirmed, “but try to take Percival Graves, and you will become our enemy. So far, we have merely defended ourselves and taken our revenge on those who personally wronged us, do you really think you have seen anything _near_ the damage we are truly capable of inflicting?”

Tension flared up again. The two unfamiliar Aurors still on their feet huddled behind Seraphina to either offer their support or hide behind her. Percival kept a calming hand on Credence’s shoulder and watched as Leona struggled to her feet as well, wand in hand and fury in her eyes.

“Threats? After everything you’ve done, you dare to threaten us?” Silvestri snarled.

“No,” Theseus said, “this is a promise.”

Percival saw the Auror behind the blonde woman move, but he didn’t realize what was happening before it was too late. The Auror had his wand ready and aimed it towards Silvestri. “Avada…”  
“Stupefy!” There was a flash of blue as the Auror was hit by a stunning spell and sent unconscious to the ground.

-

Credence felt the Obscurus screaming inside him, fighting to be freed and unleashed to deal the turmoil of the situation. He held on tight to Percival instead, staring wide-eyed at what had just happened, much like everybody else.

Makarov studied the fallen Auror with a faint frown before being the first to move, casting a spell; “Revelio.”

Credence blinked surprised as the Auror revealed himself to be Wane Bathory. What was he doing here? But before he could even consider the answer to that, he heard Theseus repeat the revealing spell and glanced up just in time to see the Auror who had stopped Bathory be hit by the blue magic and be revealed as Scar.

“Regis?” Leona whispered, rage replaced with shock.

Scar’s face was as expressionless as ever. “Bathory was to ensure there was no capture or communication to reveal our plans.” He glanced briefly at the blonde Auror. “Neither he or Grindelwald know I’m here. I’d like to keep it that way.”

“You saved my life,” Leona stated and Credence had no trouble hearing the affection in her voice. Sadness and longing. There was definitely a story there. “Regis,” she struggled to sound as unaffected as he appeared to be, “I’ve been looking for you.”

“I know,” was his flat reply. “You need to stop. I’m not coming back, Leona. I’ve chosen my side in this war and I believe in what I’m fighting for. I’m not going to change my mind. You know that.” His black eyes glittered with something that might have been fond regret and Scar even reached out to brush his fingers by her face. “You know me.” He then let his hand drop and turned his once again neutral face to Graves. “If you lot want out, this is your chance. Wane won’t know what happened; he can be told you all perished here. If you wish to stay with us, we need to leave. Grindelwald will have retrieved the orb by now and he’ll be waiting to hear a report.”

“Nobody is leaving,” Seraphina declared, up on her feet again and looking everything but pleased. “You are all under arrest.”

The words had barely left her lips before she was hit by a powerful stunning spell that had even the President of the MACUSA unconscious in a second. Credence slowly glanced over at the guilty party; the man who had kept him at bay in his Obscurus-shape. The dark haired man, supporting the gawping Newt, gave a slightly sheepish smile. “Please don’t make me regret doing that.”

“Why help us?” Graves asked, wary.

“Because Gellert’s war is coming,” the man replied, serious now, “and I think we need your help to fight him.”

Credence tugged lightly at Percival’s jacket. Who cared why he did it? They should just grab the opportunity and run! “Percival, please….”

Nodding, as if he could hear his thoughts, Percival drew a hand over Credence’s hair, but he glanced around at the wizards there. “We can disappear, but only if no one is looking for us.”

“I wasn’t even here,” Scar said.

“I was knocked out,” Newt whispered, looking mournfully at the ground.

Silvestri didn’t reply at first, still staring at Scar, but finally she swallowed hard and turned away. “Go.”

-

“Are you really okay with this?” Graves asked, nodding towards Seraphina. He remembered too well how condescending she had been to his fall from grace and, suddenly, because Scar was there, she was fine with the MACUSA President getting knocked out so a band of known fugitives could escape?

“She’s not my president,” Leona sniped, sending him a poisonous glare. “And this is the only chance you will get from me. Next time I see you, I’m taking you down. Permanently.”

“Is that so?” Percival drawled, feeling his temper rise. On second thought, why should they run? Why not stay, and side with Grindelwald for real? They knew the man was using them, but they had been using him for their own vendetta against the Ministry as well, which Gellert knew and was fine with. Percival had promised to help him burn down the unfair world they were living in, why not keep his promise? Why run, when they could stay and _destroy_ the simpering fools who’d sent them to that thrice cursed island?

Credence tugged at his jacket again, bringing his focus back on him. “Percival… We have to go. Please.” His voice was hoarse from disuse. “Remember what you told me once? Let them fight each other. Let them wipe each other out.” He shook his head a little, resigned, pleading. “Look at us…”

So Percival Graves did.

He saw that Credence was no longer the thin, cowering boy he’d seduced in the past, but an exhausted looking young man swaying on his feet. The one who was in fact cowering was Theseus; the once so bright and cheerful man was curled in on himself, with eyes flickering nervously to look anywhere but at his brother. And then there was the Russian. Percival saw a cruelty to his mouth and a malice in Vasiliy’s eyes that he’d not seen there before. Makarov was fixated on Silvestri; almost trembling with the barely restrained urge to start hurting her again. Hurt anyone. Everyone.  
Graves wondered if there had been a reflection of himself, what would he see? Nothing flattering would be his guess.

They were all worn down, damaged and on the verge of breaking.

Credence was right. If he hoped to salvage what was left of his companions, make sure they didn’t truly become monsters, they had to get away from all of this. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Let’s run.”

Relieved, Credence nodded and gave him a faint smile. To Graves’ surprise, he then turned to Scar. “You could come with us, you know.”

Since when? Percival inhaled to veto that statement but Scar beat him to it.

“Grindelwald is the only one I believe can take down the Ministry and I’m going to help him do exactly that.” Scar dragged Wane up to hang over his shoulder. “Good luck, Credence. And, Mr. Graves, remember; Grindelwald won’t give you a third chance. Run hard and don’t look back.” He paused, glanced a final time over at the blonde Auror, and apparated away.

-

Albus Dumbledore told them to follow him and they did. He brought them back to his apartment, giving them supplies, disguises and whatever they needed for their escape.

They were all relieved when Theseus finally asked to speak with Newt in private, hoping the tear between the brothers could be mended, but that turned into shock and sorrow when the elder brother came out of the room and carried a small bottle with a silver liquid in it.  
“He now thinks I died at Azkaban,” Theseus said in a quiet voice. “I took his memory of what happened and replaced it. As long as he knows I’m alive, he’ll want to make things right and will end up getting himself killed.” He hesitated before holding the bottle out towards Dumbledore. “If… If there ever comes a time, a right time, maybe you could… give it back?”

Albus accepted the bottle with a faint frown and a nod.

“So where do we go now?” Credence asked and silence followed.

Eventually it was Makarov who spoke up. “I have suggestion…”

Ending up in Russia was not something either of them had pictured at the beginning of this mess, but even Percival Graves had to admit he was pleasantly surprised to find that late-spring Russia was not the snow-covered nightmare he’d pictured in his mind. They were able to stroll around in a beautiful park, enjoying the lush surroundings, while Vasiliy spoke to some strict looking military wizard. Eventually he joined them and revealed with a faint smile that the General had agreed to let them stay and even keep them hidden for a while.

They were assigned to at what was more of a mansion than a house in a desolate area, surrounded by a massive forest and little else. Usually the isolation would have driven Percival and Theseus up the walls, but now all four found comfort in the silence. They allowed themselves to rest.

Credence was the quickest to recover, healed by youth and not haunted by the memory of Dementors, but they all made progress, especially under his watchful eye. Vasiliy still struggled to sleep some nights but he was dealing with it. Theseus was quiet for a long period, he would occasionally sit on the terrace with his tea and stare at the horizon for hours, but there finally came a day when he laughed again. Percival Graves still hungered for revenge, but he eventually decided to abide his time instead of letting his anger consume him and found some peace in that.

The General would occasionally look in on them, have some wizards bring supplies, and while Graves suspected they were under surveillance at times, he merely let Vasiliy deal with it and amused himself with letting Credence unleash his Obscurus to its full size during training sessions outside. He was willing to bet here were some interesting reports on the General’s table on those days.

Winter brought the snow Graves dreaded, but Credence loved it. Vasiliy taught him how to read animal tracks and survival techniques in the harsh environment. Theseus would curl up with him under blankets in front of the roaring fireplace. Percival would soothe his nightmares and could still make him blush and gasp for air. 

Spring eventually melted the snow and was followed by summer. Once summer drew towards an end, the General appeared one day and Theseus could tell by Vasiliy’s face that he did not come bearing good news. He was right. The Americans had grown suspicious and was sniffing around to discover their location. It was time to move on.

-

It was with heavy hearts they packed up their things from the place they’d all grown fond of and the General himself brought them to the docks where they would board a boat for a new destination. Percival, Theseus and Credence were waiting while Makarov said his thanks and goodbye to the other man.

Theseus frowned thoughtfully as he saw the handshake between the two linger a second too long and Vasiliy had a sadness to him as he walked over to them. There was something… “Vasya, just out of curiosity, and about thirteen months too late, how did you know he’d help us? What made you so sure?”

Vasiliy managed a slight smile. “Because he is good man.” Clearly that was a Russian code for the highest praise one could give another person.

Nodding, Theseus wasn’t satisfied. “Clearly. But you quit the military, didn’t that piss him off?”

“He was not happy,” he replied, amused, “but General Makarov hates Americans more.”

“Wait, what?” Theseus wasn’t sure he’d heard right. “General Makarov? You’re related?”

“Alexey Ivanovich Makarov. He is my father.” He made it sound like Theseus was an idiot for not figuring out earlier, which, okay, now that he thought about it; they shared same eye color, hair color and stocky build (even if the General was taller), but they acted like complete strangers around each other! Did the father resent his son’s choices?

Theseus darted after the General before Vasiliy could stop him. “General, wait!” He swallowed hard as the stern looking man halted and turned to face him with a piercing grey stare. “Sir, I just, I wanted to say…” Theseus faltered and had to rally. “I wanted to thank you for letting us stay here, but also… Your son is a good man, General. He is a strong fighter, he’s saved my life more than once, and he’s really a good man. You can be proud of him.”

The General stared at him for a couple of seconds and it seemed like the entire world had frozen. Nobody seemed to make a single sound or move at all. Finally there was a glimmer of emotion in the grey eyes and General Makarov gave the faintest of nods. “I know.” 

Theseus could only breathe again once the General turned and walked away. It was official; he had the scariest father in law of all living creatures on the planet! But, despite that, he found himself liking the man. There was a heart somewhere under that uniform. Like father, like son.  
Smiling, Theseus trotted back to the others and enjoyed the sight of the stunned Vasiliy. “Let’s go.”

And with that, the four left Russia and headed for unknown shores.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final epilogue; what happened afterwards?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic would never have been made or finished if not for the support of Gentrychild, Melamory, Waltertail, Truetomorrow, Jules_711, AkihiroHowlett, Pamdizzle and everyone who has shown an interest in this AU! Thank you so much everyone and I hope you enjoyed reading at least half as much as I enjoyed writing this! <3

After the fugitives’ escape from England, the MACUSA had been infuriated as their leader was attacked while supposedly being under British protection, and the English Ministry shot back with the culprits being Americans who were fired from the British service before the incident. Relations between the countries were strained and didn’t improve for a long time.

Years passed and with not a single sighting of Percival Graves or his companions, the UK and the US alike began to focus solely on Grindelwald instead. The war everyone had been fearing was soon looming close on the horizon.

It loomed until it exploded into being and it all came to a final battle in 1945.

Like Percival Graves and his friends, Albus Dumbledore had tried hard to avoid being sucked into it, but there came a point where he could not allow the suffering to continue and not challenge his former friend.  
Gellert had grown strong, his army even stronger, and Dumbledore was both relieved and sad to see a black cloud come thundering in over the battlefield in Germany. 

It had been over ten years since anyone had seen him last, but Credence Barebone was making his entrance and soon three other figures emerged from the darkness. Percival Graves, Theseus Scamander and Vasiliy Makarov stepped onto the battlefield as well.

One creature, an almost mutated version of an Obscurus, had slaughtered everything in its way when it suddenly faced the real thing and Credence slammed down on Wane Bathory with pure rage.

It was a ruthless and messy battle, the final battle, and it ended when enough had died and parts of Grindwald’s ranks fled, leaving most of the creatures still alive to merely watch as Albus Dumbledore fought Gellert Grindelwald. Most, except Credence, who ignored it completely as he walked over to where Leona Silvestri was crying without restraint over Scar’s body. Scar was surrounded by fallen magical creatures and a dying Augurey cradled in his hands chirped mournfully. Credence kneeled down beside him as well and wondered with quiet grief why he had perished and Bathory had not.

War, Theseus had warned him once, was never fair. It didn’t care which lives it claimed, good or bad.

When Gellert Grindelwald was defeated, there was more a feeling of relief among the wizards than any joy. It was a silent victory followed by mourning their dead and rounding up the guilty ones.

Wane Bathory was alive, though half-crazy from the blood-magic he’d preformed to gain Obscurial powers, screaming and throwing out threats as he was marched off with the other prisoners. Theseus sent him a quick glance on his way over to Percival. “We have to get out of here.”

Percival nodded. “Okay, let’s go before…” He trailed off as he saw Newt Scamander stare at them with wide-eyed disbelief. “Fuck…”

Theseus paled. For the longest time neither moved, but Newt finally shook his head.  
“But, you’re dead… You died in Azkaban… I couldn’t…”

“Let me explain,” Theseus choked out. “Let me explain and then you can hate me…”

-

“All those years…” Newt was having trouble believing what he was hearing as well as what he was seeing. “You let me believe you were dead for all these years. I mourned you for all these bloody years and you were alive!”

Percival crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall with a sigh. He was trying to be patient, he really was, but they didn’t have time for this! Vasiliy took up position by the window, scouting.  
They had taken refuge in a nearby house to let the Scamander brothers talk it out, but they were still wanted fugitives and this place was crawling with Aurors.

“I had to!” Theseus replied. “After Azkaban… I wasn’t myself. I did something I can never forgive myself for, Newt. I took that memory away from you to keep you from looking for me, yes, but I also did it because I was ashamed. Dumbledore can give it back to you if you wish it.” He drew a shivering breath. “As long as you knew I was alive, you would have sacrificed everything to save me. I couldn’t let you do that.”

Newt clenched his jaw. “That wasn’t your choice to make.”

“Maybe not,” Theseus conceded, “but I can’t say I wouldn’t do it again. You’re alive and that is what matters to me.”

“All these years…” Newt whispered.

“I looked in on you from time to time,” Theseus admitted with a pained smile. “Disguised, hidden, but I did. You and Tina both.”

That brought a little smile to Newt’s face, but it suddenly vanished as he frowned curiously and stared directly at him and then the others. “Over ten years. But you have barely changed, if at all.”

“We think it’s the Obscurus,” Percival said, not straightening or bothering to look over at him. “Being exposed to Credence’s raw magic growing stronger seems to have an effect on our aging process.”

Credence, still quiet and mournful over the loss of Scar, finally glanced up. “Something to add to your book?”

Newt huffed a laugh. “I suppose.” He turned his attention back to Theseus. “Now what? Are you going to Obliviate me?”

Shaking his head, Theseus held up his hands in a defeated gesture. “That’s entirely up to you, little brother.”

“Then I’d rather remember, thank you very much,” Newt muttered. He wrapped his arms around himself and shifted his weight nervously. “I can’t believe you’re really here…”

“Yeah, well,” Theseus began, “not for long. We have to get going. We’re still wanted fugitives, remember?” He sighed. “Maybe one day…” 

“Definitely one day,” Newt countered.

“Yeah,” Theseus replied, pulling the awkward Newt into a hug. “Until that day, okay?”

“Okay,” Newt mumbled against his shoulder. His left hand slowly moved up to go around Theseus as well. “And… I’m glad you’re not dead. Pissed off at what you did, but I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“I’ve missed you, Newton.”

-

While the brothers did their hug and make up-part, Percival pushed himself away from the wall and sauntered over to Credence. “You okay? You look… upset.” 

Credence shrugged before he turned to rest his head on Graves’ shoulder. “Scar didn’t make it.”

“Oh…” Percival lifted a hand to slide it behind Credence’s neck, letting it rest there in a comforting gesture. “Maybe it was for the best.” He felt Credence tense up. “You know they would have sent him to Azkaban. Even if Fawley, by some miracle, managed to keep him off the island, Scar would have been a miserable prisoner to his father and the wizarding world he hated.”

“He could have found another way,” Credence mumbled, stubborn and sad at the same time. “Newt did. They could have worked for creature rights together.”

Briefly smiling a little at the idea of those two socially inept people together, Graves petted his neck. “Scar made his choice. We’re just going to have to respect that.”

Credence glanced up at him. “If you try to make a stupid choice like that, I won’t respect it. I will curse you to within an inch of your life!”

That made Percival smile again. “Fair enough.” He gave the neck a light squeeze. “I consider myself warned.” He let his hand slide down to rest on Credence’s shoulder and glanced over towards the window Makarov was staring out. “Truth be told, we’ve been fighting Gellert for so long now that I’m having trouble realizing it is actually over.”

Credence made a thoughtful sound while lifting a sardonic eyebrow. “We’re still among the top ten Wanted by the MACUSA and the British Ministry, you know.”

Graves turned his focus back on him with a devilish grin. “Tricking them and make them chase their own tails? I’d do that for fun, Credence!”

Letting out a quiet laugh, Credence shook his head a little with a fond look. “You are a mean man, Mr. Graves.”

“So people keep telling me,” Percival murmured, brushing light fingertips over Credence’s lips and thoroughly enjoying the shivering breath and dialating pupils his touch caused the younger man. “Are you ready to go home?”

Credence was staring at him like he was hypnotized and shuddered back to life. “Yeah…”

“Vasya,” Percival called out, gaining the Russian’s attention. “Ready to go home?” He got a nod in reply and he moved over to the two as well.

Waiting for Theseus join them, Percival Graves took a moment to be grateful that the battle was finally over. Back when Gellert had approached him to persuade him to his side, Percival had no idea that what he’d get himself into would cost him everything, his career and his home, and would last for almost twenty years! But, looking at where he was and what he’d gained, he did not regret it.

They had survived, they had each other and it was time to move on.

-

They left Germany as abruptly as they had arrived. Of course, there were rumors that their presence had been spotted on the battlefield.

One of Grindelwald’s followers, Wane Bathory, insisted vehemently on that he’d fought Credence Barebone himself! (Though, his mental stability was heavily questioned so there wasn’t put much weight on that statement.) As for other witnesses, it was hard to say what had been smoke from fire spells, Bathory’s misshapen form or if it had indeed been the Barebone Obscurus.

So while there were rumors, when there were no new sightings of them in the weeks, months and years that followed, Percival Graves and his companions slid further and further into obscurity.

Sure, there were some people who wondered why in Morgana’s name Newt Scamander insisted on traveling to Seychelles at least once a year, even dragging with him his wife and eventually their offspring as well, but who were they to judge where he wanted to spend his vacations?

Time kept moving on. Percival Graves, Credence Barebone, Theseus Scamander and Vasiliy Makarov went from being hunted fugitives to a mere side-note in the Wanted lists, to end up as almost mythical beings. Figures which seemed to appear at random intervals throughout history when there were times of need. 

It was said that during the First Wizarding War, they were actually among the original members of the Order of the Phoenix, but it could never be made official due to their fugitive status. Some even claimed they were close to the Longbottoms, but it was impossible to confirm any of it. Albus Dumbledore was known to keep his secrets well…

The most preposterous rumor emerged during the Second Wizarding War. It was said that the four appeared to fight against the darkness anew, which could be somewhat believed, but several wizards insisted that they had seen them during the final battle and they still looked like the Wanted posters from the 1930-ies! Some even claimed they’d seen them at Albus Dumbledore’s funeral, supporting the absurd rumor concerning their almost unchanged appearance, but there were no official records of their presence at either incident.

A reporter once tried to ask the elderly Newt Scamander about the rumors concerning his brother, but the man had been as secretive as Dumbledore. If the reporter drew his own conclusions from the mischievous sparkle in Scamander’s eyes, it was something that was left out of the article.

So, some believed the stories about Percival Graves, Credence Barebone, Theseus Scamander and Vasiliy Makarov were just that; stories. Others speculated in theories ranging from them being ghosts to other unholy statuses. 

But whichever view one had regarding the four, it was hard to disregard one thing that never changed throughout the years; they were always seen together.

And, stories or not, it was kind of reassuring; the idea that if darkness would ever descend on the world again then the four would return.

[](https://imgbb.com/)  



End file.
